Legends of the Pirate King
by maidenfairhair
Summary: What really happened at Shipwreck Cove? Who is the father of Elizabeth's child? And how will her heart stay devoted to Will when she is risking everything for another adventure with Jack Sparrow? Post-AWE, Long Live Sparrabeth! NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Legends of the Pirate King…**

**A little more than a year after the events of AWE, Elizabeth makes the mistake of teaming up with Jack to solve the questions of her future. When a handsome and dangerous friend joins them, complications arise which link Elizabeth's painful past to her unsure present. An epic story of Elizabeth and her adventures as Pirate King, JE. New characters, new settings, and a whole lot of drama. Rated T for a few later chapters. Please enjoy, and review! Oh, and Disney obviously owns all the characters we love to speculate about. **

* * *

**Ch. 1 **

A thick haze of smoke had settled over the room, and the earlier commotion had died down after Slim-Fingered Kreg and his men left. "Come on, lads," had been Kreg's dark enticement, "I know where we can get our hands on women worth paying for." But the heavily-made-up, good natured girls of Black's Tavern weren't insulted. Kreg would be back another night in better spirits, when he hadn't lost a fortune at the cards or been foiled in a shipping scheme. Kreg was predictable.

The chatter mellowed into more comfortable silence, only occasionally interrupted by an old hand in the drinks with a story or song to share before he chewed his way towards pensive pondering. Marta, a slender golden-haired lass familiar to Black's Tavern, was unusually restrained as she tended the fire and kept mugs full of ale. Port Morgan, offbeat but dazzling on the island of Ile a Vache, had seen its share of heart-breaking beauties, but Marta was the town darling and the daughter of Isadore Black herself, the illustrious and somewhat cagey owner of Black's. Whose daughter Marta was Isadore never would say, though rumors flew endlessly about Black Beard himself, or worse. "Who could be worse than Blackbeard?" Isadore would remark dryly in her thick native accent, and no one would respond. Rumors that Isadore had once gutted a man for questioning too close were also rampant in Port Morgan.

"Kreg insulted her," one crusty sailor whispered to another, nodding at Marta with a knowing wink.

The other, his eyes heavily rimmed in kohl, flattened his brown palms across the worn wooden table, inwardly scoffing. "Is that so? And how can you be sure the lass didn't insult _him_, eh?"

The sailor shrugged. "She didn't leave with him. Usually does." He glowered into his mug as Marta approached, the graceful sway of her hips dividing the sickly glow of the fire behind them.

"More ale?" she asked in a distracted tone. The sailor nodded, but the other pulled Marta closer with a reassuring brown hand.

"Listen to me, darlin'. This old man swears on his life that cheap Kreg insulted you tonight. Now I told him that couldn't be the case, for a lass as healthy and merry as you to be let off by a thieving imposter."

"It's no business of yours," Marta murmured, but she didn't look away from the man's endlessly dark eyes, a void in his shadowed face. An enigmatic grin lit them briefly, and he landed his hand down on the table with a sudden laugh.

"Like her! Just like her. Perhaps too fair, but the voice so similar…" He turned back to Marta with mirth. "You remind me of an old acquaintance. A very famous one. Perhaps you've heard of the Pirate King?"

A sudden gust fluttered through the windows, and the room seemed to lean in closer. Marta was not the only one thoroughly intrigued.

"Pirate King?" Marta repeated. Indeed she had: the Pirate King that only recently had been talked of in towns and ports across the Caribbean and perhaps beyond, in stories of devastating villains and far-fetched adventures, but what had caught Marta's ear was the most astonishing part of the tales: the Pirate King was a woman.

"Wot, the Pirate King pretty as our Marta?" The sailors and drinkers cried. "We don't believe it!"

"Do," said the dark stranger, with another of his disquieting grins. "The Pirate King once seduced and betrayed the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow to his death, as I hear. It would take quite a beauty to accomplish that."

Silence, and then, "Jack Sparrow? That scoundrel owes me thirty doubloons…" The room dissolved into querulous discussion. "I'd heard she was married to Davy Jones," cried one. "But Davy Jones is dead," groused a well-respected, one-eyed elder. "The Dutchman isn't the terror it once was, or I'm no Captain." "Widowed and disappointed in love, mark me words," suggested another. "Nothing else could cause a woman to live such a life, with no husband, in these dangerous times."

_Oh, I think it would be grand,_ Marta thought breathlessly. She turned to the stranger. "Am I really like her?"

With another laugh, the man leaned forward and kissed her deeply on the mouth, the salty taste of liquor remaining on her tongue. "For certain, sweetheart. But you'll not live such a life, promise me that. If all the pretty lasses disappear for a life of high adventure, there'll be no more reason for a man to return to land."

_So you are a man of the sea,_ Marta thought, savoring the taste he had left on her mouth. "Are the tales of this Pirate King true, then?"

"Every one, my girl."

"Oh," Marta whispered in delight, "Will you tell me?"

The man swallowed the last of his mug, and paused to admire Marta's flushed face, her lips a scarlet ribbon of anticipation. "I think you and I will both have to have a lot more to drink first."

"How much more?" Marta asked impatiently. And pulling a jug nearer, she began to hum, "Drink up me hearties, yo ho…"

Captain Jack Sparrow broke into a smile. "That jug will do for present." He slid his arm around her waist and began to talk in a coarse, soothing voice. "Once Upon a Time…"

"You can't start a pirate tale with 'Once Upon a Time'," Marta said reproachfully. "Start with 'One Dark and Stormy Night…'"

Jack frowned. "Very well. One Dark and Stormy Night, a young lady by the name of Elizabeth Swann was kidnapped by a fearsome crew of cursed pirates…"

Another wind gusted through the room, bringing scowls and talk of hurricanes as the tavern emptied. Long into the night Marta sat on the knee of Jack Sparrow, drinking in the wild stories he told, before leading him with an ardent smile up to her room. And outside in the windy dark, an agile, sure-guided ship sailed into harbor, on the very wings of the storm.

"The Black Pearl!" cried the villages, shutting their windows as if to a bad omen. In Marta's tiny apartment, and unaware of the warnings, the fair haired lass twined her slender limbs eagerly around the Captain, sated in pleasure. Outside, a cloaked maiden watched the lone candle flickering in Marta's window, a poignant smile lighting her weary face.

"Yes, close your doors. Shut your windows. The Pirate King has come."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

* * *

The howling winds of a late-November storm were beginning to subside off the coast of Ile a Vache, but the residents of Port Morgan weren't taking any chances just yet. For Slim-Fingered Kreg, the storm provided him time to mend the sails on his once-magnificent ship, _Cooper's Escape_. Once his honest father's fishing vessel, now a battered and cranky way to keep the fast-flowing blood in his veins from boiling over, _Cooper's Escape_ had proven an unfaithful mistress to Kreg despite the endless hours he spent leaning over her gunwale, ecstatic in the spray of the ocean.

Cursing congenially, Kreg trotted across the pebbled beach towards the town, wondering where in the devil's nightgown he was going to find the twine he so desperately needed. A looming shape caused him to stop short, and his eyes focused in on the Black Pearl, neatly tied on the far side of the harbor. Kreg found himself gawking with clear enjoyment at her sleek lines, her smartly crafted bow, and her obvious maneuverability.

"She's something, isn't she?" A voice said. Kreg jerked around, poised for flight, but saw only a willowy maiden nearby, sitting with her bare feet in the surf. "Quite a ship to Captain."

"You, Captain?" Kreg questioned caustically, trying to calm his heart rate. The ship and the woman had both startled him more than he cared to admit. A bad omen? Cautiously, he seated himself beside her under the churning gray clouds. It was only a few hours after dawn, but dark as twilight. With a sidelong glance, he took in the woman's ragged foreign robe, loosely falling off one bony shoulder, and the wistful expression in her dark eyes. _Nymph or stowaway? _He wondered with a wry grin. Or perhaps the vision of a constantly inebriated fool, exposing himself to the last remnants of a storm. Kreg drew his long, spindly fingers out of his pockets and absently toyed with the sand as desire for the woman stirred in his imagination.

"Yes, I am Captain. And more besides," she said softly. "You better not stay here."

Amused at her sorrowful tone, he pulled out a recent acquisition: a compass, traded by a dark stranger last night for news of one Captain Barbossa. The object caused the girl to gasp.

"Where did you get that?" she demanded, suddenly steely. He drew back in surprise, one hand on his dagger.

"Fairly traded, only last night in Black's Tavern," he finally breathed. He was afraid of her, and he didn't know why. She relaxed.

"Black's Tavern. Can you take me there?"

"For a small price," he murmured, drawn to the restrained energy she had exhibited. "A kiss?"

In an instant, she was on her feet, a pistol pointed to his head. "I am not one of those women, sir. Take me to the tavern or prepare yourself for the Locker."

"I'll take you," he said with a grimace, "But if I were you, I wouldn't stray down any dark alleys in this town at night. You seem to make enemies easily."

Suddenly the girl laughed, and the bitterness of the laugh sent chills down Kreg's back. "Do I? Well, for that I will kiss you. But you must fulfill your end of the deal, then." And she bent her dry, cracked lips to his, briefly. Kreg was entirely bewildered and could hardly find his way back to the tavern with the strange girl, now wrapped in a heavy cloak, close on his heels. Only later, upon discovering his new compass had vanished, did he have an abrupt revelation: he had met the Pirate King.

* * *

Black's Tavern was rowdier than ever, and Isadore Black was cheerfully out-drinking every man in the room. 

"I say we storm her deck and make a wreck of her," Old Sam said, pounding the table. They were talking of the Black Pearl, still in the harbor, still a mystery. Isadore rolled her eyes and lit up a cigar. The men in her place were all pirates and thieves, dangerous sorts, but she knew their weaknesses and liked them for their bravado. Not for her the hypocritical manners of the Royal Navy, whose companies she had once served. Instinctively she fell to perusing the room for Marta, who had been gone since the night before.

She was disrupted by an excited voice rushing to the tavern on tromping boots. "He's dead! Kreg's dead! Drowned and shot, and maybe his throat slit as well!" Everyone was suddenly on their feet, out to the road to see the body. It was Kreg all right, and he was very dead.

"What has happened to him?" Isadore demanded to the gathering crown. "Who would dare to kill Slim-Fingered Kreg, and succeed?"

"It was me." A steady voice broke through the din, and Elizabeth Turner, the Pirate King, stepped forward. Resplendent in richly embroidered Asian garments, a feathered hat adorning her head, and her eyes cool and proud, Elizabeth surveyed the astonished residents with a mocking smile.

"It's the Pirate King," the whispers began, "Come to us out of the storm on the Black Pearl… and now she's killed Kreg!"

"Yes, I killed him. And I now lay claim to his ship and all his possessions." And with a toss of her head, she exhibited an array of gleaming weapons at her side. It suddenly seemed that she was surrounded by a dark, leering crew dressed in the same rich garments, though where they had come from, no one could say.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Another voice suddenly broke in. "Hold up. I object."

"There's nothing to object to," Elizabeth said firmly.

"Yes there bloody is!" Captain Jack Sparrow emerged from the crowd, only slightly drunk and more than usually jovial. "I killed the man. I swear on my mother's head, may it never fall off, that I killed that bastard Kreg, and therefore I am duly owed his ship and all possessions, including a certain compass this lady has stolen from me."

"Nice to see you again, Jack!" cried the Pirate King, "Now stand back or I'll shoot your lying mouth. I killed Kreg and you know it! You watched me do it."

"Lies, lies, lies," Jack rebuffed, "I shot him myself."

"Well, if you shot him, then who slit his throat and drowned him?" Isadore asked, perplexed and entertained. The crowd was watching with the interest of a serious poker match.

"I did, of course, just to make sure he was dead. Can't be too careful." And the Captain's smile glinted with gold.

"If you _did_ kill Kreg," Isadore remarked dryly, "I doubt pretty Marta will let you near her bed again."

The crowd gasped; the plot had thickened. Elizabeth was clearly perturbed as well.

"Well, that is to say," hedged Jack, "I _tried_ to kill him. But I might not have."

"Of course you did! The guilt of it is written all over your face."

"Can you keep your whores out of this, Mr. Sparrow?" Elizabeth said icily.

"_Captain_ Sparrow!" Jack groaned, raising his sword to Elizabeth. She shoved it away.

"I have proof that I killed Kreg. He bought one kiss of the Pirate King with his life. I have his compass, and I have his boots and his dagger. What more could you want?"

"Our Captain back!" Another voice butted in. Kreg's gang had arrived, menacing and ready to draw the blood of revenge. The crowd began to back away. "Whoever killed Kreg has to square with us."

"She killed him, obviously," Jack said, sliding behind Elizabeth. "Look at all her proof."

* * *

Hours later, Jack and Elizabeth found themselves tucked back in a corner of Black's, laughing as they tended the various cuts and scrapes of the evening. 

"I _am_ glad they were all cowards," Elizabeth gasped. She had drunk plenty, but was fairly coherent. "I am out of practice. I seem to have lost all my nerve when Will went away."

"Not by my reckoning," Jack remarked, holding her face still to tend an ugly gash across her forehead. "It wouldn't have been my idea to stay and fight."

"What say we split the ship and the booty, fifty fifty?" Elizabeth gave him her best pout.

"Not a chance, love. I most definitely remember killing him. I get the ship and the compass, you can keep the boots and the dagger. Savvy?"

"We can't both have killed him, Jack" Elizabeth slurred. "It's not possible. Either way, I gave him a message to take to Will."

"A somewhat distasteful way of communicating with your husband." Jack slid his fingers back forth through the flame of the candle, and felt around for his half-empty bottle. "Why do I always find myself alone with you? I remember it being bad for my health." She turned to say something, but he stopped her with a hand on her mouth. It was still so enticing to him, the curve of her lips, now cracked from the salt of the sea and set in a hard line. He had long ago given up trying to understand the desire he still felt for her, even after her ultimate betrayal, even after—he shuddered and shook his head. He wouldn't think about death now. She always turned up; it seemed they would chase each other around the world before their stubborn pride would allow them to admit they were better off sailing together.

"How long has it been… since…?" Jack didn't finish the question, and didn't listen to her answer. He had been counting as well: one year, six months, and a few days, give or take. "You certainly are making your mark on the Caribbean, love. Why, ever since you stole my ship…"

"I didn't steal it from _you_," Elizabeth retorted. "I chased Barbossa halfway around the world. I deserved some reward for my troubles."

"Ah, but when are you going to admit you can't handle it, and give it back?" Jack leaned in towards her face, tracing her harsh cheekbones as her eyes flickered. She was warm, and always softer than he imagined. Everything about her was full of contradictions; everything about her seemed formed just to please him, from the strength of her white hands to the sardonic line of her mouth. Jack didn't want to admit that she was forever beyond his reach, didn't want to admit that he had found one mystery he would never solve. Absently he allowed his calloused fingers to skate over her shoulders and then the soft skin just above the line of her bodice.

"Jack, don't." She caught her breath, and Jack was pleased to notice the tell-tale signs of desire in her voice.

"Pirate King and Legendary Captain. Hard to resist, isn't it?" There was no eagerness in his voice; he knew her answer, and even mildly berated himself for unsettling her.

"Hardly," she replied evenly. "Try Pirate King and Captain of the Flying Dutchman and you've got it about right." A tragedy, but at least it made for a good story.

"You gave that Kreg a kiss. Why not one for an old friend?"

"If I did that, I'd have to kill you," Elizabeth said, trying to lighten up the tone of the moment. She should return to her ship and get some sleep; her crew was waiting, they had plans to embark within a few days for La Aqua Vida, if she could manage to purloin the charts from Jack. She had never figure out why he hadn't succeeded in his quest to find the Fountain of Youth. He certainly wouldn't tell her.

Jack sighed. "Very well then, Lizzie. Luckily for you I am a good man and much less drunk that you'd think. Off you go to your widow's bed, and good riddance."

Elizabeth glared at him and stood up. She knew he was bluffing; for all his amorous ways, Jack Sparrow would never seriously think about her anymore, not after what he had done for Will. But she couldn't deny her own attraction to him. For months she had struggled to ignore the aching desires her body seemed to be overcome with, but now, suddenly, she wanted to get away from Jack.

"Wait," she said, in spite of herself. "You didn't tell me why you killed Kreg."

"It should be quite obvious, darlin'. Men of his caliber have no business kissing the Pirate King."

_And you do?_ She wondered, feeling a rush of heat at his possessiveness. She lingered in the narrow booth, as Jack gathered up his hat and pistol. The rich earthiness of his movements seemed entrancing in the firelight; the edge had been taken off their rivalry after the events that took place more than a year ago, and Elizabeth couldn't help but admit he was the only person in her life she could count on. Her lips curled; _how ironic that the pirate I once killed is now the only person I can trust._

But she didn't trust herself, and there was too much at stake. Jack had already proven her downfall once.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3. Warning: A bit of a bodice-ripper. Please review. If I don't get reviews, how will I know if the story is worth continuing? ;) **

Captain Jack Sparrow went wandering through the unknown town in a daze of alcohol and memories. He had briefly considered finding Marta, or someone else to help him pass the night, but the idea only magnified his frustration with the one woman he couldn't have.

Life was complicated. The web of grief, guilt, and fear surrounding Elizabeth was hardly to be wondered at, considering she had been asked to do the impossible. Oh, of course she loved Turner. She was so much more loyal than Jack was. But Jack alone knew what the commitment to him had cost her; Jack alone knew the depths of passion she now kept hidden behind her hard exterior, for the sake of that peculiar chest stowed carefully in her cabin…

* * *

**1 year, 6 months, and a few days earlier… The Meeting of the Pirate Brethren at Shipwreck Cove.**

Shipwreck Cove was better than Tortuga, and Jack felt his spirits soar as the Pirate Lords began to disperse, despite the dangerous days ahead. Here, he was in his element, enjoying the position he had fought to achieve since his first encounter with the Devil's Throat, years ago. With a glance at Elizabeth, he felt tension return to his back and neck, habitually bent from bending over the helm of a ship. She wandered towards him, the fierce pride of her face somewhat lessened in her delight at being named Pirate King. Jack smiled. It was worth it, just to see the warmth of her eyes and the childishly confident way she had handled herself in front of the suspicious and disparaging Lords. She seemed to embody the buoyancy he had once felt, and despite everything she had done to him and everything she had been through, he felt closer to her than anyone on the island. Jack prided himself for his ability to be calculating and calm, but he seemed to lose that famed ability around Elizabeth.

"Jack, what did you do that for?" She asked, eyeing the remaining Lords as they settled down to play cards and drink. _What a way to prepare for battle,_ she thought inwardly.

"I am obviously using you to gain my own ends," Jack said frankly, and they both smiled. "What happened to Sao Feng? Did the encounter with a goddess prove too much for him?"

A cloud of pain passed over her face, and she bit her lip. "I don't know what I would have done if we hadn't been attacked… I was so afraid, Jack!"

"I'm sure you would have thought of something," Jack said, though he felt suddenly protective of her. He wondered vaguely where Will was, and where he still fit into the scheme of things.

"James… the Commodore was killed," Elizabeth said softly, the breath going out of her. She was suddenly exhausted. The well-planned façade of the Brethren Court was behind her, and all she wanted now was to collapse into the arms of someone who could protect her. Life was so uncertain, death so quick and irrevocable. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? She shivered. Jack sensed her grief and wisely did not reply with the challenging wit he was so famous for. He contented himself with placing his arm around her shoulder and leading her towards the Pearl.

"I'll tuck you in and let you sleep," he said. "No use worrying about tomorrow, then, love. Either we'll make it, or we'll meet up in the Locker. That's life for ye."

The cabin he led her to was his own, and a mess. The constant squabbling between Barbossa had left it mostly empty, except for the half-empty bottles and charts scattered about. A few short candles struggled vainly to light the gloom, and the heavy, salty smell of wood and pitch and the ocean seemed a permanent presence within. Elizabeth sat down gingerly on the edge of the big bed.

"Jack, I haven't… I need to say something…"

Jack knew what was coming, and wasn't sure that he wanted to hear it. "You rescued me. It's behind us."

"It isn't," she said, with sudden frustration. "It isn't! You can barely look me in the eyes, Jack. I'm not a saint but I swear on my life, I must have been possessed. Leaving you was the last thing I ever wanted to do."

Her blunt honesty grated on him, and he seized a bottle out of habit. How was he supposed to listen to her sweet voice, saying the words that he had imagined over and over in the Locker? The compassion he had felt for her a few minutes ago evaporated, and he suddenly wanted revenge. With a shock he remembered the sharp tension between her and Will, and wondered whether Elizabeth's confusion about him had anything to do with it. She certainly wouldn't have agreed to go with Sao Feng unless something dreadful had happened between the two of them.

"It's a pity William isn't here to comfort you in all this," Jack remarked casually, knowing the words would pain her. She stood up and stamped her foot, her face flushed.

"Don't bring him into this, Jack. He's betrayed me."

Jack could see past the torrent of emotion in that statement; Jack knew that William wanted Elizabeth more than anything, and every decision he made was somehow an attempt to win her. But tonight, he didn't want to think of that. He knew enough of Tia Dalma to anticipate something of Will's future. Elizabeth was wrapped up in it, but for now, Jack was alone with her in his cabin, torn between desire for revenge and desire for_her_.

He stepped closer, swallowing imperceptibly. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and he was going to have both. Her decision may ultimately bind her to Will, but for now, Jack could only think to fulfill his own craving, and hers. Whatever tomorrow might bring, Jack wanted her to feel the thrill of feverish love-making and the sharp jolt of being beaten at her own game tonight.

Elizabeth sat down again, and Jack sat next to her, close enough to smell the Asian perfume wafting from her neck. He placed one of his rough brown hands gently on her thigh and heard her stifled gasp.

"What is it you are so afraid of?" Jack questioned, low. She turned to meet his eyes, hers awash with restrained longing.

"Myself," she finally said, blinking. There was no use lying to him, and there never had been. Once the dashing figure of legends, and now Jack was frightfully human before her, fighting against everything she knew. "I found what I wanted, I chose to pursue it," she said flatly, "And look where I am. I am terrified of being trapped, Jack. Terrified of being smothered by _his_ expectations, or _his_ disappointment. Terrified that I will ruin him. Terrified that I won't be able to stay."

Jack kissed her. He couldn't help himself; she seemed to be speaking his own fears to him, and yet they both knew they were waiting for someone who would make staying worthwhile. Her lips were a heavenly pressure against his, inviting, hungry, and she explored his mouth with her tongue, eager and hot. Her body was trembling, and he pulled her alongside him so that he could feel the slight curve of her breasts beneath her stiff garment. The Asian perfume, something like Sandalwood and incense, was hounding him with its intoxication. The pain of his desire made Jack moan softly. Was she afraid of him? He couldn't remember the last time he had been with a virgin, and the newness of each sensation for Elizabeth caused her breath to come fast and heavy. But he felt himself a virgin too… she was a new land for him to discover, and her heady purity made the moment sacred.

"Jack, stop, I'm afraid…" she murmured as he slid his hands over her breasts.

"Stop being afraid," he ordered hoarsely, unable to stop himself. "I know what you want most, right now, in this moment. That's all that matters."

Appeased and unable to argue, Elizabeth pulled him onto the bed so his weight was on top of her, passionately moving her lips down his neck and chest as she struggled to undo the clasps of his vest. There was something overpowering about the way his skin felt against hers, like some esoteric potion that drowned out her sense of reason. It was true—in this moment, she couldn't deny exactly what she wanted. Everyone in her life had abandoned or betrayed her; the loneliness she felt had been stifling, and here was the essence of her soul, covering her with his kisses and yet not asking her to give up her freedom for him. In a strange way, he was freedom. These moments, a knot of her turbulent rebellion and headstrong recklessness, were bliss beyond her wildest dreams.

Jack was savoring each taste and texture of her body, the glossy tangle of her rich hair that he dug his fingers into, the fluttering pulse of her neck and wrists. She had managed to remove his shirt, and she spread her long white hands over his chest, bending to kiss each scar. Wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over his body, more potent than wine.

"You're… like a story I've fallen into," Elizabeth was whispering, as though confessing to him why she was allowing this to happen. "Life is something different with you, somehow epic and magical, Jack. I can't think straight, because reality just vanishes…" He began to pull off her tunic, his hands fast and sure. How different, how magnificently better where these feelings that anything she could have imagined. The darkness of the night and the danger of their bodies moving together sparked off a million thoughts in her head, but she let them go. She wanted only to be aware of _him_.

"I know I'm wicked, I can't seem to help it," she moaned as he finally freed her from the tunic and cast it aside. He paused to look at her naked body, feeling the swift aching response to her lovely form, the perfection of skin, the delicate breasts now rising and falling rapidly. Cradling her in his arms, he silenced her tumbled speech with another kiss, long and deep. She fit perfectly against him, her white limbs pressed tightly against his brown body. She should always be there, he thought, in the curve of his body, his match. But it could not be. Frustrated in the midst of his elation, he allowed his hands to explore her, almost holding his breath lest the forbidden fruit vanish. She was so beautiful, so eager and fresh, like a morning of fine sailing after a storm. He slid off his trousers, unwilling to wait any longer.

Elizabeth clung to him, fervent but unknowing as he bore down on her, sinking his hips deeply against hers and pulling her legs apart so he could rest between her thighs, caressing them smoothly and then faster as he entered her. She gasped in pain and clung tighter, as he allowed himself to explode within her, the months of desire finally released, dazed with exhilaration. Was it the triumph of success, or love of the deepest kind that washed over him as she writhed with pleasure beneath him? He slid his hands to the small of her back, guiding her body deeper against his, and with pressured and sensuous hands, stroked her trembling face, willing her to open her eyes.

"Don't stop," she breathed harshly, shaking. Her eyes opened for a moment, fiery brown, as she continued to kiss him.

"Is that an order?" he murmured tenderly, in a dream of euphoria. "For I am a simple pirate, compelled to obey the Pirate King…"

"Yes," she exhaled, a naughty smile touching the corners of her full mouth, "Don't stop, Jack…" And with that she pulled him roughly closer, drinking of his body and the pleasure he gave her with the thirst of a long-parched wanderer. Neither knew who had triumphed; both a Legend and a King found their downfall in the others' arms. In a rush of rapture, unstoppable as the ocean, the night passed only too quickly, a night which both knew may never come again...

* * *

And it never had come again. A rapid and inevitable series of events had separated them forever, and Jack could no longer find a way to fight fate. He understood why she had married Will. Yes, he understood. He had given up everything to allow her that choice. He wished he could tell her that, explain to her everything he felt, but it seemed so futile. Life had to go on, for both of them. Jack wasn't stupid. 

Jack sat on the beach, gazing at the Black Pearl with longing for the woman within. Yes, life had gone on. Women had come and gone, adventures had been had, rum had been consumed. Jack recalled laughing and enjoying life many times in the past year. But those brief memories of Elizabeth, now dreamlike and remote, were more precious to him than all the treasures he had ever sought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4. Please enjoy, and review. **

* * *

The morning brought another outcry; Port Morgan had become much more exciting with the arrival of the Pirate King. First the town gang-leader, Slim-Fingered Kreg had been killed, and now his ship, Cooper's Escape, had been stolen, along with the dinghy of the dark stranger who argued with the Pirate King. And more shocking still, fair-haired Marta had vanished with the ships. 

"A kidnapping!" some of the men cried, while Isadore Black shook her head. No one else was missing from the town except the young Porter boy, an awkward youth long in love with Marta. Isadore had no doubts about what had happened, but Marta knew little of the sea. She would be back, Isadore asserted, and back soon.

Captain Jack Sparrow wasn't so sure. "Thieving wench," he muttered, but Isadore could see the smile curving at his lips. He was proud of what she had done, that much was plain. "She's halfway to Tortuga by now, and good luck to her," he said, and to prove it, he drank a health to her, even though it was ten in the morning. Isadore was perplexed by the man's dark moods and amusing antics; he seemed more dangerous than most gave him credit for, and she hoped he wouldn't stay long in Port Morgan. _Change comes with the tide,_ she said to herself, repeating an old island proverb, _but the steady tides are the most welcome._

Elizabeth Turner found the tides signaling a departure. She had awoken with the sun, weary and troubled. Her dreams had been exhausting, and the old fears were fluttering around her mind. Her life seemed a hopeless endeavor. But her endless chases and adventures were the only things keeping despair at bay, so she ordered her crew to prepare the ship, and set off alone into town to find Jack. A bright, clear blue sky soared above her, and the Caribbean sun shone warmly on her head. Shady palms waved together lazily, and the intoxicating sound of the waves on the beach calmed her mind. Jack was leaning against the dock, talking to an old fisherman when she approached.

"Ready to take me aboard, then?" he asked, startling her. She glanced at the fisherman, who scowled and went muttering about his day. "Obviously I am stranded. Not a nickel to me name. And since you have a ship and a crew, it looks like it's your turn to help an old friend out."

He was grinning at her in a way that made her stomach churn. Almost as though he were delighted to be stranded. Almost as if he had planned it.

"I'll want something in return," she said, choosing her words carefully. Not too eager, not too friendly. They were still rivals, in some ways. "Your charts to the Fountain of Youth."

His face twisted into humorous confusion. "Fountain of Youth? Whatever would you want to go there for?"

His relentless cheerfulness began to annoy her. She could sense all of Port Morgan watching them both out of their windows, perhaps laying bets on whether they would go. A Pirate King wasn't welcome in many towns, no matter how much entertainment she provided.

"I want to go there for the same reason you did," Elizabeth finally forced herself to reply. "Immortality."

"A dreadful nuisance, it sounds like," Jack said, waving her off and shifting his weight. "We ought to go after the treasure of Saint Croix, or Jost Van Dyke if you've a mind. I've got me compass, we could make port in—"

"Jack, enough!" Elizabeth interrupted, wondering why she could never have a normal conversation with him. He turned to her, his eyes dancing with laughter, and in spite of herself she smiled, softening. He was just dodging her, the way old friends did. Teasing her out of her earnest tone. "Please, can't you help me? You know that Will is immortal. It seems only natural I pursue that end, for him." It did seem only natural, but Elizabeth had avoided the journey for more than a year now. She wasn't quite sure why.

"So, you want to make a deal. I take you to the Fountain of Youth, and then you give me back the Pearl, is that it?" She cocked her head to one side. No, that wasn't what she had been thinking at first. But the idea had merit. The thought of spending so much time with Jack again both intrigued her and frightened her. Either way, there was a rush of relief at the prospect: she could lower her guard, let him take charge, have someone to bail her out in a crisis. She was tired of everyone always depending on her. Their trust was daunting.

"We have an accord," she said, sticking out her hand. He looked confused.

"Do we? I don't recall agreeing to that."

"You suggested it!" she said through clenched teeth. _Why do I even bother with him?_

"I'll agree," Jack said slowly, becoming serious in turn, "Under one condition. I'm Captain, I get the Pearl at the end of the voyage, and lastly, you swear on the life of your undead husband you will obey my every word once we reach the destination. The crew knows nothing; they don't come ashore, they don't get a taste. And you promise me that you will keep me from drinking it, on your husband's life. Is that understood?"

"That sounds like more than one condition," she breathed. "I don't understand why you wouldn't drink from it…"

"Either you agree or you don't. What's it to be?" He was impatient and entirely unwilling to answer her question. Now, or ever. But he didn't mean to be harsh with her—the way she drew back, the fear in her face caused his heart to clench. For all her bravado, Elizabeth Turner was still a woman, and on some level, deeply vulnerable. He willed away the memories of her alluring whispers, those confessions she had made to him in a moment of passion at the Cove so many months ago. Did she even remember? The subject was forbidden, and had been ever since the morning he woke to hear her steady, rhythmic breathing beside him for the first and last time. Now she slept alone in the big bed of the cabin, the Captain of the Pearl.

"I agree," she interrupted his thoughts, her voice strained and business-like. "We sail in an hour." She turned on her heel to leave.

"Wait!" Jack cried, giving away too much with his voice. "We have to shake on it. You know, keep to the code and all that."

"Hang the code," Elizabeth mumbled.

"Ah, have we forgotten we are King and not Keeper of the Code?" She could sense his lazy grin, the words he so clearly relished to say. She turned, drawn in against her will.

"One day, perhaps, I will be Keeper of the Code as well." She shook his hand briskly, not allowing herself to dwell on the shape or the strength in his tanned fingers.

"No, that is something I would never allow to happen," he expounded, not letting go of her hand. "But on to our plans. We need to make Port at Les Arcadins. There's a man we need to pick up."

"I'm tired of men," Elizabeth said crossly, yanking her hand back. "My crew is plenty."

"I won't go without him," Jack said firmly. "He's a good luck charm." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but Jack was adamant. "I'm very superstitious," was his excuse. "Anyway, he's a remarkable sailor. Name's Charles Vane."

_Charles Vane…_ Elizabeth silently repeated the name, wondering why it sounded familiar. "Very well. We'll get him. What's he like? Should I warn my crew?"

"Oh, you'll see," Jack assured her. "If you hadn't married Will, you would certainly have been his wife. You'll fall in love with him, mark my words."

"What? Jack don't be ridiculous. If you're going to be Captain, you at least must treat me with respect. After all, I am still King. I'll expel you from the Court if you aren't careful."

"My apologies, oh Kingly one," Jack replied, beginning to saunter away. "One of these days, we'll have to find you a crown."

Elizabeth turned laughing back to the Pearl. _What on earth have I gotten myself into?_ She wondered without irritation. But it would not do to worry over bridges not yet arrived at. At any rate, her trip to Port Morgan had been a sweeping success. Elizabeth still marveled at her coincidental good luck in finding Kreg such an easy target, and Marta such a willing accomplice. She blushed to remember her deal with Marta—a deal that had landed Jack in the position of soliciting her help—but a pirate had to do what a pirate had to do. And with Isadore Black in her pocket, a suitable haven had been found in the event the Royal Navy crossed the Atlantic again before the Rainy Season made it dangerous. Yes, everything was going according to plan.

An uneasy thought crossed her mind. In the past, Jack had out-planned and out-maneuvered the other Pirate Lords with an ease that had impressed her. Now, it made him a potentially dangerous adversary. What angle was he working? What had been behind his strange instructions regarding the Fountain of Youth? And who was Charles Vane?

Elizabeth shook her head and checked her ever-loaded pistol. He was still wrapped around her finger… but if her influence over him were to slip, she had other methods of protecting herself. Jack may be charming, brilliant, and legendary, but she was the Pirate King, and on a mission of the utmost importance. Her entire future depended on it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5. For those of you who have written reviews, thank you so much! For those of you who haven't, it would be lovely if you would take a few seconds to do so. I love hearing feedback, whether good or bad. I need lots of help and encouragement. Cheers!**

* * *

"Tack irons, and then close haul, with a will!" Jack was shouting to his new crew, stopping to adjust the bowline.

"Captain," Elizabeth said shortly, "There's no need to wear them out. We'll get underway soon enough." She could sense his keen enjoyment of the day: back aboard the Pearl, under a crisp sky, just the right wind. She found herself envying the simple pleasure he seemed to derive from setting forth. "I suppose you're glad I agreed to let you come."

"I couldn't let me first and only love disappear from my reach," he smirked, still active with the knots. Something in the way he said that made Elizabeth wonder whether he meant the Pearl, or the freedom of the ocean, or _her_. She turned her face to the breeze, closing her eyes and allowing it to tug her hair loose behind her. There was something magnificent about the first day of a journey. Something addictive and humbling, as though she were getting a fresh start on life every time. No wonder she found herself moving from place to place, unable to settle.

"What's this?" she asked, indicating a load of cargo cluttering up the Port side.

"A load of rum," Jack said, keeping his face straight. "My gift to you. Are you surprised?"

"Jack, that's enough rum to last us ten years," she giggled. "It's an unnecessary weight."

Jack shrugged. "I'm Captain. This is the way I do things."

Elizabeth marched over to the crates and pried the lid off one. Instead of rum, she found a well-crafted new cannon. At least five of them were there. She turned back to Jack.

"Planning on starting a small war, are we?"

"It's not as though we're sailing to tea with the Queen," Jack asserted, "This is a difficult and dangerous journey. I don't intend on losing my ship or my life along the way. Savvy?"

Elizabeth could only respond with a nod as she walked away. With a somewhat annoyed glance back at Jack, she pictured the crates of new rifles stored in the hold below. They both had the same thought when it came to safety.

* * *

Not more than ten miles away, Marta was relishing her head start, for it left her ample time to enjoy her first real journey out to sea. Cooper's Escape proved easy to manage, especially once Porter was convinced to help. He seemed sullen at being removed from his natural surroundings, but Marta didn't pity him. What a grand adventure for them both! 

Marta could hardly help laughing when she thought of her tasks: employed by the Pirate King to steal Captain Sparrow's new ship, and then employed by Jack himself to beat them to Les Arcadins for other reasons, she reveled in the intrigue of it all. And she had her own plans as well; plans that might lead her to the most sought after treasure in the Caribbean. It would easy, she marveled, to outdo them all… all she needed was the proper leverage.

* * *

A purple gusting twilight landed them at Cotes des Arcadins earlier than expected, and Elizabeth was stunned to see the waves glowing bright aqua, miraculously producing their own light. With a gasp, she turned to Jack, who was getting a closer look through is telescope. 

"What makes the water glow like that?" she asked.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jack said, without removing his eyes from the scene. "Plankton. The tidal rhythms cause them to do that sometimes. Cold light. Most ocean life can produce it, in one way or another."

Elizabeth was charmed. There was so much to the world she didn't understand, so much she had yet to experience. How many years had Jack wandered the seas, to have such an awareness of the world around him? "I wish I knew more about these things," she admitted softly. Jack handed her the telescope and guided her hand to study the waves.

"It'll come. Rome wasn't built in a day."

A series of quick-fired shots suddenly interrupted them, and the crew poured onto the deck, ready to defend themselves. Jack waved them off.

"Nothing to worry about. Charles Vane has a noisy way of welcoming us. Elizabeth and I will go ashore, and the rest of you will stay here and clean up this deck. I hate to see my ship looking so dingy."

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing; the ship was spotless. The tiny fishing village they neared seemed sleepy and peaceful, save the flickering lights and commotion coming from one raised hut at the end of a row. Jack talked blithely of the rare bird species found on the island, pointing out a particular plant she should remember, and adjusting his belt. Was he nervous? Was this Vane a friend, or an enemy?

"Up we go," Jack said after staring at the ladder at the base of the hut a few seconds too long. He put on a cheerful grin. "Just follow my lead."

Elizabeth shrugged and climbed the ladder. A short porch above led the way through an open doorway, and she paused as her eyes adjusted to the light and the din of the room.

A strange company was before her; colors and scents swirled in exotic patterns, and a blind flute player in one corner played a fast strain. Two coal-black men in Arab robes sat smoking a water pipe, while a gathering of youths made bets as the flute player enticed a cobra from a basket. Suddenly, a well-built man moved past Elizabeth, meeting her eyes with such a warm intensity that her stomach lurched. He reminded her of Will—a sweet smile complimented by a devious brow, strong limbs, a surety about his movements. He didn't break his gaze with her, even as he moved to the other side of the room, where an old woman of some importance tossed dice with an odd assortment of foreigners. The man whispered something to the woman, and she rose regally, signaling the flute player to be silent. Elizabeth's skin prickled; everyone's eyes were suddenly on her. She was relieved to feel Jack behind her.

"Bon Soir," she said, her voice a cracked shell from heavy smoking. Noting Jack, she smiled and spoke English, though it was heavily accented. "Have you the passcode?"

"My wife and I were sailing one day, when all of a sudden we found ourselves face to face with the King of England," Jack said seriously.

"Wearing a green robe, with a chocolate ice in his plump hand?" The tall man continued. Elizabeth watched with confused interest.

"Not a green robe, but a tiger-skin," Jack replied, the words coming rote. "So I gave him my wife, he gave me his gold, and I decided to alert the Duke of Buckingham that the Channel was frozen."

"What did the Duke say?" asked the woman patiently, playing her part.

"He said to chop it with a pick and bring him a masseuse from the Continent, while I was at it."

"The Duke's ways are mysterious," the woman nodded. "Welcome, then. You've passed the test."

Elizabeth was surprised to see Jack roll his eyes slightly, as though he found the ritual ridiculous. The woman now fixed her eyes on Elizabeth.

"And you?" she questioned. "Have you the pass code?"

"I'm with him," Elizabeth stammered, indicating Jack.

"No you aren't!" cried the tall man, suddenly roaring with laughter. "I suppose he wishes you were, but it's plain to see your heart belongs to another." The room burst into laughter as though something very witty had been said. Elizabeth was irritated.

"We cannot let her in, if she knows not the passcode," the woman said to Jack.

"Careful, Immaculee," Jack said, lowering his voice to a tone of reverence. "You could be killed for such disrespect. This is the Pirate King, come to pass judgment on your miserable lives."

The woman sucked in her cheeks till they were hollow, and the room was filled with tension. The tall man broke it with another howl of laughter. He flung himself before Elizabeth in a deep bow.

"Your pardon, milady!" he cried. "We could never have imagined such an exquisite king to pay us heed. Can you forgive us, sweetheart?"

"You're forgiven, Charles Vane," Elizabeth said grandly, making a correct guess, to instant effect. The room seemed delighted with her mysterious knowledge.

"I'm honored," he cried with a bright smile, as she offered him her hand. To her satisfaction, he bowed over it, the proper etiquette for a stranger.

"You're from England?" she asked.

"Jolly Old London! I should have known, my bonny King, that you were a countryman! A true English Rose," and he twirled his cape back with another flourish. "Kit Vane, at your service!"

"Elizabeth Sw—Elizabeth Turner," Elizabeth replied, with a proper curtsy. Jack was looking at her with a strange smile.

"And how did you fall in with this rascal?" he said, seizing Jack in a bear hug. Kit Vane was explosively energetic, and Elizabeth felt bemused by his antics. Jack shared Kit's mirth.

"We've struck up an accord," Jack explained, "And I'm in her service. More or less." He winked at Elizabeth, as Kit's eyes widened.

"What? Darling, how could you allow yourself to be taken in by this black-hearted half-breed? I suppose he drew your sympathy with that old slave-ship story, eh?"

"No, I'm afraid that's one I haven't heard," Elizabeth said, looking questioningly at Jack.

Jack decided to change the subject. "Kit, I need to find Fatimah. Tell me she's here."

"Ah, Fatimah!" Kit groaned with delight, obviously recalling the Egyptian's luscious curves and exotic dancing. "I'm afraid not, my friend," Kit said, slapping Jack's back with energy. "But she left something for you! I've got it here. Fight me for it?"

"What, fight the legendary Charles Vane? As soon fight my own mother!" Jack replied jestingly.

"How is your mother, by the way?" Kit asked, and Jack took a swing at him.

"She's well. Her head is wonderfully shrunken, And she asked me to tell you that her ninety-year old cook performs better than you. Now hand over the goods!"

After a few more minutes of merry grousing, Kit finally produced a tiny silk bag, which he handed to Jack.

"What is it?" Elizabeth whispered, wondering vaguely whether opium was one of Jack's secret vices. Jack glanced at the room and then turned her around, sliding open the silk bag and allowing the contents to fall into his hand. An exquisitely carved silver box was all, and Elizabeth opened it to see loose Egyptian kohl—and quite a supply of it—within. A smile spread across her face, and she looked up to admire the heavy rim of it around his eyes. "When were you in Egypt?"

"I was sixteen, and my teeth were very healthy," was all Jack would say. He tucked the bag into his vest and joined into the conversation of the room.

* * *

Elizabeth was in the crow's nest on watch as dawn approached. The Pearl was moving slowly off the coast of Hispaniola, aiming for Tortuga. Kit had taken a hammock below; Jack had fallen asleep by the helm. Elizabeth's mind was still whirling from the night before, and trying to make sense of Kit and his peculiar friendship with Jack. Jovial, loud, broad-chested and decidedly English, he hardly seemed the sort Jack would remain close to. But then, Elizabeth really knew so little about Jack. A frown crossed her face as she recalled Jack's strained discussion with the woman Immaculee before they left, a conversation she had striven to hear in the midst of Kit's amusing chatter. The few words she had managed to hear made no sense, but the disquieting way Immaculee glanced at Elizabeth throughout the conversation, and her chilly farewell to Charles Vane, made Elizabeth suspicious. 

A few sharp glimmers of gold suddenly burst across the horizon, shading the waves a deep pink hue as Elizabeth traced the familiar molding of the rail. She felt at peace, the silence comforting, and the lonesome feel of the cool morning wind soothing to her troubled mind. How weary she was! Body and soul, she ached for the sense of security she had felt with Will. It was a chancy world for a woman alone, juggling a dangerous lot of criminals with one hand, pursuing a supernatural goal with the other. One hand instinctively clung to her abdomen, a nervous habit.

A whistle caught her off guard, and she looked down to see Kit strolling across the deck, breathing in the refreshing morning air with relish. A girlish smile touched the corners of her mouth. She waved, and climbed down from the nest with ease.

"Up there alone, all night?" he asked, his eyes bright blue and sparkling with liveliness. She nodded, blushing. His presence made life game-like and interesting. She felt aware of her own beauty standing next to him. Jack approached.

"I've got to find a hammock," he remarked, yawning. "Kit, you take watch, eh?"

Kit nodded and bowed to Elizabeth, as though ready to depart.

"I'll accompany you," Elizabeth said smoothly. "I'm not tired. I like to know everyone who sails on my ship."

For an instant, a powerful emotion surged across Jack's face. _Fear, or guilt, or perhaps jealousy?_ The moment was so brief Elizabeth could hardly guess. But then he was laughing, smiling, encouraging her to follow him towards the bow.

As Jack sauntered away with apparent nonchalance, he twisted his fingers together in the worn pocket of his coat. For days he had been fearing that Elizabeth would recognize the name of Charles Vane and suspect; for it was a name of terror and menace across the Caribbean, and Jack's own limited knowledge of Kit was dark and dubious. _She's clever,_ Jack told himself. _She out-maneuvered you more than once. Kit's the one you should be worried about._

But he couldn't help himself. Below decks Jack tossed and turned, while a smooth sea opened before them, ushering them towards the Fountain of Youth...


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six. Prepare for major angst, which I promise won't be the case in all chapters. Fast-paced action and humor will be served up in Chapter 7. Review, or I'll assume you hate it.**

* * *

Night had fallen. Elizabeth sat around the big wooden table with Kit and Jack, under a million silver stars. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the ocean was flat as a lake. Elizabeth wryly remembered Jack's insistence that Kit was good luck; apparently, not so for the weather. 

Nearby, old Weatherby twisted rope together and Fenwick, his patient apprentice, watched. Elizabeth had always felt a strong affinity to Weatherby, her first mate, partially because he shared her late father's name. And Fenwick had been a slave on a sugar plantation as a child before Weatherby helped him escape. They both told marvelous stories, but tonight they were silent. Jack and Kit provided the noise and merriment.

"You play like this," Kit was explaining, pouring straight rum into each mug. "We each take a turn. I say something I've never done, and then, if you've done it, you have to take a drink. Last man (or woman) standing wins. Got it?"

"Very well! I'll start," Jack said rubbing his hands together. "I've never worn a corset."

Elizabeth giggled and took a swig. To her astonishment, Kit took one as well. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

"A pirate has to do what a pirate has to do," he said with a curl of his lip. "My turn!" He thought for a moment, and a malicious light came into his eye. "I've never paid a whore."

Jack promptly took a drink, while Elizabeth stared at Kit in disbelief.

"He means he's never _paid_ a whore, not that he's never _had_ one," Jack explained. "He's a cheat." Kit laughed his charming, affectionate laugh, and kissed Elizabeth's hand.

"Forgive him!" he cried. "He seems to have forgotten we have a lady present."

"Hardly a lady, anymore," Elizabeth admitted wryly. Her loose tunic and trousers were dark and shapeless, her hair untended, her skin darkened by the sun. How her mother would cry to see her now!

"Your turn," Kit said encouragingly. Elizabeth tilted her head thoughtfully, unaware that both men were admiring the fascinating warmth in her brown eyes.

"I've never met a mermaid," she said, only because she was curious whether they had. Both took deep drinks, obviously enjoying the memories. "Really? You've met one?"

"I was off the coast of Madagascar, when I heard this enchanting voice…" Kit said dreamily, taking another drink. "I was gone. If it weren't for Jack, I would have been fish bait. Mermaids are quite dangerous, it seems."

"If you were a true pirate, you would know that!" Jack quipped. He swirled the rum in his mug. "I've never been married."

Elizabeth and Kit took a drink at the same time, and then looked at each other and laughed.

"It was a lavish affair," Kit recalled with a spark in his eye. "And she was the loveliest creature…"

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked.

"Unfortunately, another man also thought her the loveliest creature, and she found him equally attractive," Kit ended sadly.

"My wedding was a disaster as well," Elizabeth sympathized. "The first time, it was ruined when my fiancé and I got hauled off for helping _him_" – she indicated Jack. Kit glanced back and forth from Elizabeth to Jack with a queer look on his face.

"It was worth it, just to know she'd helped one of the most legendary pirates in the Caribbean," Jack assured Kit. "And considering what I did for her just after her second wedding, I think she'd appreciate me."

"Jack!" Elizabeth said, her voice soft and tender. "Of course I appreciate you. I thought you'd know that by now."

"Very well, you two, my turn again…" Kit said, covering his curiosity with a mocking laugh. His eyes hardened, and he said deliberately, "I've never been to bed with the Pirate King."

Elizabeth's face went white. She couldn't bear to lift her eyes to Jack, to see whether or not he would drink. She thought of fleeing the scene, but swallowed back the dizziness flooding her mind and forced herself to remember that she was the Pirate King, and must not allow herself to be so easily manipulated.

Weatherby and Fenwick were both staring, even skinny Marcos stopped pretending to mop nearby. The fun of the game had dissolved into tension so sharp you could break it against a board. Kit was leering at Jack, but Jack seemed preoccupied. Finally he raised his mug in toast to Elizabeth, and drank deeply from it, only setting it down when it was emptied.

Incredulous, Kit stared at Jack as he wiped his mouth and sighed with contentment. Finally Jack met Kit's eyes and winked jovially; "Only in me dreams, mate," he said. Kit let out his breath and leaned over to punch Jack's arm.

"You dirty bastard!" he bellowed. "I was just about to challenge you to a duel for your indiscretion."

"No need, no need," Jack assured him, the same infuriating grin on his face. "I wanted to see the look on your face." Elizabeth allowed herself to breath normally again, wondering if her blush would give her away. She gained time by pouring more rum into Jack's mug.

"Well, I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life! You have nerve, Mr. Vane," she said at last.

And they all three drank.

A whistling noise was on the air as they set down their mugs. Elizabeth pressed one hand against her ear, while Jack leaped up and stood against the rail, his keen eyes searching the clear night.

"Canon fire! Down!" he yelled suddenly, dropping to the floor. Kit seized Elizabeth and dragged her down as a canon bomb exploding just right of the mast, knocking the sail back. Kerosene splattered across the deck and swiftly ignited.

"Every man to arms!" Jack was shouting, throwing open the cabin doors. "Roll out the canons!"

The crew moved with quick efficiency to their stations, and waited for Jack to shout "fire". Dead silence had fallen again across the sea, as Elizabeth beat at the flames with a canvas. Kit joined her.

"Anything?" he hissed in a whisper to Jack. Jack shook his head, gazing intently out to sea.

"A distress call?" he wondered softly. "Or were they testing our strength?"

"There's nothing to see for miles," Marcos called from the Crow's Nest, the telescope in his hand. "It's like it came out of nowhere."

"Douse the lanterns," Jack ordered. "And remain at your stations."

"What are you going to do?" Elizabeth choked between breaths. The flames had died down, but the smoke made breathing difficult. Jack held a finger to his lips and climbed onto the rail, dangling his legs towards the water.

More whistling. Another canon bomb suddenly burst against the side of the ship, scattering debris everywhere. Elizabeth screamed, and Kit caught her as she swooned. Jack still didn't move.

"Captain?" Weatherby finally called from below, "Orders?"

Jack hadn't blinked. "They're out of range," he murmured, "that's why the canons didn't damage us." He suddenly jumped off the rail and ran over to Kit, who was still holding Elizabeth.

"What happened? Elizabeth?" he asked quietly. She was reviving.

Blushing to find herself in Kit's arms, she struggled to stand. "Nothing, I'm fine. Something struck me, but I'm alright. What do we do now?"

"I'm taking the boat. I'll be back."

"What, to attack them single-handedly? Think this through, Sparrow!" Kit said roughly.

"They aren't trying to attack us," Jack insisted. "They're trying to get our attention."

Kit sighed and then strode over to the boat, lowering it. "Let's go then."

"I'm coming," Elizabeth said. Jack shook his head.

"No sense losing both captains in one shot," as he pressed a rifle into her hand. "We'll be back in a few minutes."

Elizabeth listened to them row away, breathing harshly. The crew remained at their posts, and she stumbled to the starboard side of the ship, shooting pains across her middle. She pressed her hand against it and leaned on the rifle. Nothing could be seen or heard in the darkness around her. Even the little waves against the side of the ship were stealthy and tense.

A quarter of an hour passed in agony before they returned, swinging themselves onto the ship in a sober mood.

"The Royal Navy has set its sights on Tortuga. This area is crawling with them. The shots were a signal, which we were meant to answer."

"And now that we haven't?" Elizabeth asked. Jack shrugged.

"It depends on what they heard—and saw. If we're lucky they'll think it a passing merchant ship."

"How did you find this out?" Elizabeth asked, noting that Jack wouldn't meet her eyes.

"We took a hostage," Kit finally answered. "And then we dispatched him."

"_You_ dispatched him," Jack said softly. He wandered toward his cabin. "Keep the men at their posts for an hour, in case of another shot. And head for Tortuga. If we get there first, we can warn them."

Elizabeth gave Kit a look as though to say, keep an eye on things. She followed Jack into the cabin.

"Jack, what is it?" she said, shutting the door. Jack sat on the bed and pressed his hands against his head.

"Never was cut out to be a pirate," he muttered. "Can't stomach the day's work."

"You've killed many men, Jack," Elizabeth reminded him gently.

"Yes, shot them with dignity," Jack asserted, clearing his throat. He was disturbed and appalled by what Kit had done to their hostage. But he didn't want Elizabeth to know. He didn't want her to think he was weak.

"You should go to sleep, Jack," she headed for the door, but Jack stood up angrily.

"Don't order me around. I'm Captain. I'll do what I please."

"Yes, and a fine Captain!" Elizabeth spat, angry in her turn. "Playing things mighty close to the vest."

"Now look here—" Jack began, but stopped upon seeing Elizabeth's face drain of color. She lurched against the door and would have fallen, but he scooped her up and sank to the floor.

"What in bloody hell…" he muttered, seeing blood seep through her tunic. He lifted it and yanked back with sudden horror at what he found. A shallow gash had been made in Elizabeth's side, but that wasn't anything to worry about. What caused Jack to blanch and nearly collapse were the rows of deeply-ridged scars across her abdomen, as though she had been sliced nearly in half. He sat aghast, until Elizabeth began struggling to sit up.

Her eyes went wide at Jack's face, and she yanked her tunic down, but it was too late.

"Be still," Jack said hoarsely. "Let me tend it." He drew the shirt back up, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, unwilling to see the disgust she knew would be on his face. But when she looked she saw only deep pity and concern. He had bound the wound at her side, and now traced the scars with his graceful brown fingers, shaking his head slowly.

"How… how did you survive?" he finally managed to ask. Elizabeth leaned against him, her breath steadying.

"I don't know." Exhausted, she swallowed heavily and tried to find words. "I had a child, Jack. I was pregnant."

Whatever the story would be, Jack knew he was distinctly unprepared to hear it. He was a pirate, common and rough, who could usually find a reason to smile. How could he possibly help her?

"Will was gone. I was happy, so happy about the child… it was nearly time for it, when I got captured in a raid. The Royal Navy." A deadness came into her eyes. "They found out who I was… that I was Pirate King." The title seemed to dismay her, but she laughed an empty laugh. "Oh, if I had only known what becoming Pirate King would really mean… they tried to get me to talk, to tell what I knew. They tried everything. And at last, when nothing would work, they took my child."

Jack shuddered, chills creeping down his back. He placed both of his hands over the scars on Elizabeth's skin, feeling a rage within him he had never known before.

"I think it lived," she continued. "It ought to have, if they wanted to keep it… I didn't know anything at the time, I was barely alive. Barbossa found me, got me out somehow. I don't know how he managed. I don't know what he went through." She sighed profoundly. "I swore to myself I would find the child, get it back if I could. But I was so weak. I couldn't find any news. Barbossa gave me the ship, and told me he would keep searching on his own."

Jack understood. She had made a deal with Barbossa; he wouldn't be so kind of his own accord. To gain back her child, she would be deeply in his debt.

"Elizabeth, we'll find it," he said. "We'll get it back." She shook her head.

"It's too great a risk. We're both wanted in every Port from here to England. If I find the Fountain of Youth, I'll be able to trade with Barbossa…" she bit her lip, hoping Jack wouldn't revile her as a traitor. "And if nothing else, I'll make myself immortal and then I can be with Will."

Jack was thinking. He wanted to protect her, but somehow, he knew he couldn't. And the web of plans he had so carefully made were now ruined. A sudden thought struck him. "Is it Will's child?" he blurted out without thinking.

A long moment passed. Elizabeth didn't look at him. "Yes," she finally said. "He's my husband. The child belongs to him, if I ever find it."

Jack felt her pulse quicken. He wanted to drink himself into oblivion. _This is why you avoid entangling yourself in the affairs of others, Jack!_ He told himself desperately. _This is where you wind up!_ "I want to help you," he whispered. Elizabeth had never heard him use that tone, and almost wished he would say something clever and inappropriate instead. "But I don't know how."

"This isn't a game anymore," Elizabeth shrugged. "I thought I had learned that the day I found out my father died. But it never quite made sense until Will left."

Will. Jack hated him unreasonably, for not protecting Elizabeth. Wasn't that a husband's job?

"What a bloody mess," he muttered.

"I'm not asking for anything," Elizabeth said defensively. "I have my own plans, my own life to live. We made a bargain, and once it's complete I'll be out of your life for good."

"No, you won't," Jack returned heatedly. "It's not that simple, Elizabeth." How could he explain that he felt responsible for her, for her child? He stood up and paced a little, trying to forget the torture in her eyes. _I'd give both hands for a drink,_ he thought. Responsibility was something he had avoided for so long.

"Yes it is," she said quietly. "You're a pirate. But me? First and foremost I'll always be a woman. And a wife. And a mother." She stood as well, wincing in pain as the rough cotton of her tunic brushed against her wound. "These are the choices I've made. I think it's time you made yours."

Jack felt like he had been slapped. He met her eyes with vehemence and then strode out the door, slamming it behind him. In the dark of the calmest night, he cursed the day he ever met Elizabeth Swann.

Inside, Elizabeth stood stone still while the minutes passed by. Her eyes prickled with tears, but she stubbornly swallowed them back. She wasn't a little girl any longer. She wouldn't cry.

What had she done? Her arms went around her waist, hugging herself as she stumbled to the wall, blinded by guilt and misery. She thought, as she had many times, of ending her own life. But that no longer provided an easy answer, either. "There's no way out," she moaned. "No way…"

She crawled to the cupboard in the wall, and opening it, pulled out the heavy shape of the chest containing Will's heart. She laid her head on it, the coolness of the metal against her cheek, the stable, regular beat devoid of comfort. Elizabeth curled her body against the chest, rocking back and forth like a child, in silent agony. "Will…" she whispered into the black room, "Will… I'm so lonely… so lonely…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch 7. Please read and review! Thanks so much for the reviews you have left so far... I hope you are enjoying this, because I am really enjoying writing it. Cheers, and Merry Christmas! **

* * *

Kit was smoking a cigar, his feet up on the table when Jack came gliding out the door of Elizabeth's cabin, his face a mask of indifference, a cynical smile pasted on his face. Kit motioned for Jack to sit down. 

"Thanks, I think I'll just shoot meself instead, savvy?" came the ironic response. Kit snorted.

"Take a smoke, get over yourself," he said with uncharacteristic laziness. "At this rate we'll all be dead before we reach Tortuga."

"Weatherby!" Jack shouted. The first mate arrived dutifully. "Why are you not Mr. Gibbs?"

"My apologies, Captain," Weatherby said. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Not unless you are Mr. Gibbs, which you obviously and unobligingly aren't. However, since it is not entirely your fault, I will let you off the hook."

"Thank you, Captain."

"And as to the 'anything else' you can do for me, I would like some wind, on the double."

"Some wind, sir?"

"Aye, Weatherby, wind. A strong Southern trade wind, to be exact." Weatherby shifted his weight and looked to Kit Vane, wondering whether the Captain was having a laugh or merely insane. Kit shrugged and puffed. "Well, off you go then. Haven't got all night. Spit spot."

Weatherby trotted away, wringing his hands. He did not like the new Captain much. The pleasant rhythm they had established under the Pirate King had been replaced by a lurching swing of a life, and most of all, Weatherby was concerned for Elizabeth. Beneath her stalwart and daring exterior lurked a thoughtful side, and a deep sorrow that showed sometimes on her face. Weatherby understood her moods, but he didn't understand why she had taken up with these strange new men, nor why they seemed to plague her so. And now he had to find a southerly wind in the midst of dry November? _He'll have us all devil's magicians,_ Weatherby grimaced, crossing himself.

"All hands to stations!" Jack roared, forgetting all hands already were at stations. "Mr. Weatherby is going to find us some wind, and we need to be prepared! Carlos, stop mopping and bring me my compass. Mr. Fenwick, tighten that rope, and then keep your finger licked and in the air like your life depends on it. Mr. Weatherby? How are things coming?"

"Captain, there doesn't seem to be a breath of wind."

"We're all counting on you, man! Pray to Calypso. Or insult her. Either one would probably work."

"Pray to a heathen goddess? I'd as soon sail to the land of the dead," Weatherby said adamantly.

"Why don't you insult her, Jack? She's more likely to respond to that," Kit put in coolly. Jack whirled around and walked with a swagger towards Kit.

"Because the Captain doesn't risk his life when there are others to do that work for him. Perhaps _you_ would care to do the insulting?"

Kit smirked. And then he stood. Jack watched him walk casually to the deck, his cigar still in his mouth, and gaze out at the glassy sea. Then, ever so gracefully, he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and tipped it over the water, tapping the excess cinders off the edge. They landed noiselessly below. Kit sauntered back to his seat and sat with a flourish.

"An eccentric libation," Jack muttered, after a moment. "Is something supposed to happen?"

A huge gust of wind suddenly swept through, nearly knocking Jack off his feet. A direct south wind, almost more than the Pearl could manage. The crew instantly set about spreading the sails, a considerable amount of shouting and excitement afoot. When he recovered his footing, Jack looked back to Kit with a gleam in his eye.

"Mysterious are the ways of the goddess," Kit said piously. Jack narrowed his eyes, but there was no time to question him further. They were running at a good speed straight for Tortuga.

* * *

Marta walked arm in arm with Captain Barbossa down the dank streets of Tortuga proper, listening with a charmed smile to his endless flow of dark story-telling. Porter sat grudgingly at the docks, on order to keep a sharp lookout for the Black Pearl. From time to time, painted ladies would approach him with a whispered suggestion, but he waved them off. He craned his neck, no longer able to see Marta or the strange criminal she had departed with. 

"All pirates seem to be story tellers," Marta was saying to him, several streets away. There was a coy smile on her face.

"How else do we wile away the hours, except by such?" Barbossa asked, his voice smooth. "It's becoming a lost art, methinks. Younger sailors, they're all brash and too stupid to understand the ways of the past. All the old legends were passed down this way. All the old treasures found this way. What will the world look like when we've gone—when the stories of the sea are just fairytales to amuse children with?"

"A dismal place," Marta agreed. She barely reached his shoulder in height, and found keeping up with his brisk walk difficult. "You'll pass your wisdom on to someone before the time comes, won't you?"

"Ah, but that's what you were telling me earlier. The time doesn't have to come. Am I right?" His smile was persuasive, but Marta saw a hint of desperation in it. If the stories were true, he had reason to be desperate.

"Perhaps," she said, doing her best at a flirtatious laugh. "But what you ask comes with a price. A very high one." She bent and began whispering in his ear. After a few moments, he straightened.

"A woman after me own heart you are, lass," he said, and was about to answer when Porter suddenly came running up, out of breath.

"Bl—Black Pearl," he managed, gasping for air. "The Pirate King and that Sparrow man… and they aren't alone! Charles Vane is with them!"

"What the devil?" Muttered Barbossa.

"Ah, right on schedule," Marta smiled.

"Do you have any idea who Charles Vane is?" Barbossa asked, turning Marta around roughly to face him. She lifted her delicate chin.

"A companion of Jack's."

Barbossa noted the familiar way she said Jack's name. He pulled back with a grim smile. "Ah, I see how it is. And did 'Jack' also tell you about Vane's history or record as one of the most notorious killers this side of Africa?" Barbossa could see by her reaction that he hadn't. "I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, missy, but your Jack is not a man to be trusted. Just you remember that."

* * *

"The Faithful Bride" was full of its usual and unusual customers, and the only thing they all seemed to have in common was intoxication. 

Elizabeth, Jack, and Kit strode in with all the awkwardness of feuding lovers, though none of them were, technically speaking. Elizabeth's face was set like ice, and her words were stern and impersonal as she directed Jack to get the crowd's attention, to warn them of the Royal Navy's impending raid.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jack cried, leaping up onto a table and glancing around. The room hushed and looked at him. "Oh, pardon me. I don't see any of either here. Sailors, pirates, thieves, beggars, and women of the profession," everyone laughed heartily and Elizabeth was perturbed Jack could recover his humor so well, "I am here on a mission from the Pirate King, an illustrious and extremely cruel acquaintance of mine." Elizabeth crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Suddenly Kit joined Jack on the table, a mug in one hand and a merry light in his eyes.

"Allow me to interrupt!" he cried, and everyone allowed him. "Before we get to the important bit, I must crave indulgence as my dear old friend, Captain Jack Sparrow, introduces our beauteous King with a song he has written just for the occasion, which delineates his affection and devotion to this lovely woman." Kit's smile was two miles wide and wicked as the devil.

Jack snorted and slapped Kit on the back. "I'm afraid my dear friend Charles Vane is mistaken on several points. I am not going to sing a song, and I have no devotion to anyone. Savvy?"

The room grumbled and threw things at Jack; they had liked the idea of a song. "Sing!" they began to cry. "Sing or we'll shoot!" and "Sing or we'll leave!" Jack turned to Kit mildly, and told him he was going to kill him later. Kit nodded and waved him on.

"Very well, my dear excessive and crooked friends, I will give you the honor. You will always remember this as the day you heard Captain Jack Sparrow sing." With that, Jack signaled the small band of musicians. On cue, they struck up a merry Irish jig, and Jack, in his dark, rough voice, began:

"When I was naught but a little lad

Just a spark in the eye of me mum and me dad

I heard an enchantress speak words o'ar me

That I'd grow up to love and to live on the sea

I'd make me a name, t'would be feared and adored

And I'd lead them to chase—both the king and his lords

But my doom would be set when I went in to free

A beautiful woman who fell into the sea!

Yo ho, Yo ho, the hour is set!

For a Pirate Lord his end to meet!

But raise a glass and give up regrets

For death is worthwhile if her kisses be sweet!"

Everyone roared with laughter and enjoyment, and joined him for a second chorus. A few couples shoved aside tables and began to jig. Elizabeth sat glowering at the whole scene. Jack continued:

"Well the years went along with a flash and smile

I made me a fortune to last me a while

And many a woman did capture my eye

But I never found her for whom I would die

Till a mornin' came, and she breathed in my arms

My steadfast defenses she quickly disarmed

And I found myself her captive at last

And she left me to die, chained upon my own mast!

Yo ho, Yo ho, the hour is set!

For a Pirate Lord his end to meet!

But raise a glass and give up regrets

For death is worthwhile if her kisses be sweet!"

The dancers were engaged in a raucous competition of who could jig the fastest. Many who had heard rumors of Jack's one-time death began toasting Elizabeth boldly, and Jack, seeming very pleased with himself, leaped off the table and joined in the dancing. After a moment he summoned attention again.

"And now, I have the pleasure of introducing you to the Pirate King herself, who is going to sing the rest of the song I just began. Of course, there are two sides to every story, and though it hardly seems necessary, I give her leave to defend herself!" Kit swept Elizabeth up before she could protest, and kissed her on the cheek. The crown leaned in with excitement; they couldn't remember being this entertained in years.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes at Jack, taking up the challenge even though he had been certain she would flee the room. Beckoning everyone closer, she began to sing in a remarkably low, sweet voice:

"When I was naught but a little lass,

I would sit and I'd talk to my looking glass,

One day I'll be famous, one day I'll be free

And I'll find my true love, a true man of the sea!

My love, he was found, on a raft all alone

And he sighed by my window until I was grown

But the wedding was stopped by a startling guest

A Pirate who came on a wind from the West!

Yo ho, yo ho, the hour is set!

A lady fair her match to meet!

But raise a glass and give up regrets

For love is worthwhile if his kisses be sweet!

My true love and I were parted that day

With a kiss did I bid him to sail away

True love never dies, he whispered to me

I'll return to you yet, keep your eyes on the sea!

But the Pirate that caused all my unhappy sighs

Lit a flame in my breast when I looked in his eyes

And my heart it was split like a wooden-beamed mast

When he told me he'd woo me and win me at last!

Yo ho, yo ho, the hour is set!

A lady fair her match to meet!

But raise a glass and give up regrets

For love is worthwhile if his kisses be sweet!"

By this point everyone was clapping and singing along, tickled by the famous villains engaged in such a petty though amusing diversion. Elizabeth, out of breath and glowing with heat, leaped off the table and into the arms of Charles Vane, who swept her to the dancers, drawing her close to his body. With one hand on the small of her back, and the other clasping hers, he led her with laughing vigor around the room, their important announcement forgotten, and Jack staring by with a look that could kill off a tribe of Charles Vanes.

It was at this moment the Captain Barbossa entered with Marta Black and the Porter boy.

"Jack!" Marta cried above the din, rushing to his arms. Jack took another pointed look at Elizabeth and Kit, and then crushed Marta into an intimate embrace, kissing her full and long on the mouth.

"Darling! You found me at last," he said, enjoying the taste of her lips more than he had thought he would. "Where's the sour old man I asked you to find?" he winked at her, and she pointed to where Barbossa stood by the door, clearly enjoying the stupidity of his rival. He walked over, his boots heavy and his hat a foot taller than anyone else's in the room. The musicians shut up, and the crowd backed away.

"You damn fool, Sparrow," Barbossa greeted him with. "I would give both me eyes for a chance to kill you right now, and slowly."

"I've missed you too, Hector!" Jack replied, thrusting a drink into his hand. "Maybe later we can take turns stabbing each other, or shooting each other rather. I remember having especially good aim when it comes to your heart."

"And while you were so pleasantly engaged in your little scheme to make the woman you love hate you forever, did you recall the reason you came here?" Barbossa asked.

"Oh yes, that," Jack said. "Everyone listen!" Everyone clearly obeyed. "Our dear friends, the Queen's Royal Navy, are less than 2 miles offshore and armed to the gills. They are planning to raid Tortuga, capture as many deviants as they can get their hands on, and then burn it to the ground. I suggest we all get as far from here as possible, and take everything of value with us. Who's with me?"

Silence. Elizabeth shoved Jack out of the way and took a turn.

"We can't run from them forever!" she cried. "We've defeated them once, and they know it! They fear our wrath more than you can imagine. I say we fight, and defend ourselves, so that they return to England quaking in their boots and swearing never to draw near our havens again! This is our land, our town, our sacred gathering! Shall we stand as men and women of dignity and defend ourselves? Who's with me?"

No one stirred. Elizabeth had thrust her sword into the air for dramatic effect, and now lowered it, infuriated.

"What the bloody hell do you propose we do then?" she yelled.

"Either we lose our lives or we lose Tortuga," came scattered replies. "How on earth do you expect us to decide?"

"Wait! Listen to me! I've a plan!" It was Marta's voice that suddenly rang out, much to the surprise of Jack and Barbossa. "What do the English Navy fear more than anything? The French! The only reason they sail on Tortuga is that they suppose the French are indifferent to the fate of the island they claim. So I propose we run up the French Flag on every ship we have docked, and set our own fires near the shoreline, as if the French have beaten them to the task! Will they dare interfere with the French rule of their own island? No! They will turn their sorry noses back to Britain, and good riddance! Now, who's with me?"

And by the noise that erupted in the room, it was clear that everyone was.


	8. Chapter 8

**1300 hits and only 15 reviews? You make me sad.**

* * *

**Chapter 8. My apologies for the growing number of flashbacks. Hopefully it inspires you to watch your 'At World's End' dvds, and complain to Disney about the lack of special features.**

* * *

The flags were in position. The pirates were too. Hidden in the thick foliage of the jungle surrounding Tortuga, they waited with baited breath as sails began appearing on the horizon. 

"Haven't been this nervous in years," Charles giggled in a whisper next to Jack. "Worse than the time we left that hog's carcass in Bartholomew Roberts' bed. Almost as if you can taste your doom."

Jack ignored him, leaning back against a tree with a skeptical air. He could remember many times where he had been far more nervous and more certain his life was about to end. One time stood out above all…

* * *

**1 year, 6 months, and a few weeks earlier: **

Jack was up when Elizabeth awoke, dressed and cleaning his pistol. She was a heavy sleeper, and she rolled over, rubbing her eyes and pushing her tangled hair away from her face. Then she saw Jack, and met his eyes. For a long moment they looked at each other, neither smiling, a heartbreaking silence between them. Time to say goodbye, the silence warned them. Then Elizabeth rose, still naked, and felt around on the floor for her tunic and boots.

"Sleep well?" Jack asked roughly. He had never in his life been there when a girl woke, and he hardly knew what to do with himself. Reality was back. The sun was rising.

Sleep? They hadn't even thought of sleep until the gray before dawn showed at the window. What a night… and what a horror that it was over, that life had to go on. Elizabeth pulled her clothes on, cursing the question. "Jack, I'll kill if you try to make this into nothing."

Jack smiled and turned back to her; he should have known she would defeat all the careful plans he had made in case she would ignore him, or worse, make excuses. "I'd never do that, darlin'. Don't you know me at all?"

She laced her boots. "Better than I did before last night." Her sense of humor made his whole being smile, and he felt more peaceful than he had in years. "Jack, was I very bad? It was my first time…"

"Tush, darling," he said, their easy camaraderie both surprising and wonderful to him, "I hope I didn't hurt you is all. I'm only a common pirate."

"Common? Hardly. Have you forgotten? You're Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Jack handed her a mug filled with water. "So I am." He paused to tie his bandana around the pile of braids, glad of the way she said his name. "I'm a bit worried you may regret this later, though. When you see—"

"Don't." It came a bit harsh, but Elizabeth softened quickly. She was not going to wreck the deep sense of fulfillment she felt by making excuses. "I didn't think I would ever see you again… I thought you were gone for ever… can't you understand how desperate that made me? I wanted to know you inside and out, so that if I lost you again, I'd be able to remember all of you…"

Jack looked into her honest brown eyes, his heart clenching. He had crossed some boundary in his own being, and he was going to suffer for it. Barbossa had warned him of her once, but Jack hadn't listened. Now he would pay, and pay dearly. _I'm a bloody pirate, _he thought to himself irritably. _Isn't this what pirates are known for? Seducing innocent engaged women and then forgetting them with the tides?_ Perhaps, but Elizabeth had always been able to see the good man in him. A cursed bother, but it was there, preventing him from disengaging.

"What becomes of us all, Jack?" she asked, laying back onto the pillow. Images of James and her father flashed through her head. Everything had fallen apart, changed: she most of all. In the space of a night she found herself a woman, understanding things that once were a mystery to her. Understanding the difference between love and commitment, passion and fidelity. Understanding how it was possible to be devoted someone with a true heart, and yet wander. Understanding the unspeakable light there could be between a man and woman, and in that bond, understanding her own tempestuous spirit.

"Are you asking me to decide?" he questioned with amusement.

A premonition in her heart whispered that he may have to. But she pulled herself up and set to work clasping the belt around her narrow waist, and tucking her unruly hair into her hat.

"You should wear blue," Jack remarked, studying the heavy black clothing she wore. When she looked up in surprise, he waved off the comment with a quick shake of his head. "Or something besides that black carpet. It fair washes you out."

"Does it now?" She stood and made her way to him, but he put both hands on her shoulders as if to ensure she didn't come any closer.

"We've got quite an adventure ahead of us," he said. "Think you can manage it?"

"I don't know," she said wearily, understanding why he had held her at a distance. She turned away and took a few deep breaths. She had traveled to the ends of the earth to have him back, to have a chance to understand her own heart regarding him. She had taken the risk, given herself up to it. And now, how exquisitely terrible would her choice be! Jack was wrong about her—she wasn't really a pirate. She could never walk out the door and forget what had passed between them. "Well, I guess that's it then," she said to the wall.

"That's what?"

"That's what I'm going to do. Make a deal with Beckett."

"Really? What kind of deal?"

"The kind of deal you won't like," she said with a wry smile. "You've won this round, Sparrow, but I will win the next. Savvy?"

Jack tried to respond, but couldn't, he was grinning so wide. "Say 'savvy' again."

"I'll do exactly as I please, savvy?"

Jack laughed deeply, looking out the window at the gray-green sky.

"Jack… will you promise me something?"

She was disheveled and tired and brilliantly beautiful, and Jack was struck by the lines of her face, wistful in the half-light. He didn't like to think how young and how idealistic she was. She had walked a dark road, and the future may be darker still. Better she became acquainted with its sorrows and disappointments early, right? "It depends on what you ask, love."

"Promise me you'll never betray me the way I betrayed you."

He already had, probably, but the mess of betrayals and plans and schemings had plunged beyond even Jack's mind. He thought vaguely of Beckett and his agreement, and the idea floating at the back of his mind to stab the heart. Only recently he had convinced Will to allow him to do it, in order that Will could rejoin Elizabeth and marry her. Was that a betrayal? He rubbed his head, his nose twitching slightly. He had betrayed all his own plans for what he had done last night. Certainly he would betray her too, sometime. It was in his nature. "I'm afraid I can't promise you that. I can't promise you much of anything, except that I mean to survive and make sure you survive, too. Will that do?"

She stood, lifting her chin with that infuriating look of pride and disdain. "No, it won't. But if that's all you can offer, so be it."

_I've still got old debts haunting me,_ he thought. And for all his clever dodging and dancing through the danger, it was not likely he could elude a final death much longer. The locker seemed to beckon him back with mocking laughter, sifted through every dream, glaring from every friend's promises. There wasn't any way in hell he was going to entangle her in that doom again. "Lizzie, we both know this isn't meant to be. I saved your life, you saved mine. We've enjoyed what may be our last night on earth together. What more do you want from me?"

_Freedom_, Elizabeth thought dully. _The freedom I felt in your arms._ "Nothing. Nothing at all. I've gotten everything I want from you. Let's go."

She walked past him out the door, and he stood watching her swift, angry movements. _That's not how I wanted things to end,_ he grimaced. _But what can I do_? Jack knew this day would forever change their fates. One way or another, night would not fall without Elizabeth knowing her future. The burden of decision was light on Jack, though. Without another thought, he said allowed to the empty room, "I'll stab the heart. I'll do it. No sense in complicating what's really quite simple. I'll stab the heart and be off to my own eternity, she'll marry the whelp and live happily ever after, and Gibbs can finally be Captain of the Pearl. Everyone gets exactly what they want."

Everyone, he thought, except him.

There was an aspect of pain in all the best of life… the pain of desire, the pain of making love for the first time, the sharp jolt of taking risks, even the burning of spicy food. Was it pain that made you value the experiences more, understand them better, remember them clearly? The pain Jack felt watching her walk out the door was delicious in its own depth; there was a strange freshness and purity to his emotions that he reveled in. For so long he had kept his desires locked into a cynical, dangerous smile. He felt human, old, exhausted, thrilled, elated, impassioned, and heartbroken all at once. He was old enough to know that most of the feelings would fade over time, old enough to know that desire diminished, love faded, people grew apart. But he felt a lightness in his spirit, as if all that grown up knowledge didn't matter for now, didn't matter because of how surely he knew that she loved him. Perhaps not in the flighty, romantic way a young girl assumes love may be, but the depth of passion and understanding between them far outstripped both of their expectations.

If this was his last day on earth as a human with a heart, at least he would sever himself from the world knowing what love felt like. But then, she _had_ won this round. She was walking out the door with her chin in the air, her face set, stern, and strong. And he was the one watching her go, the angst of an artist or a poet washing over him. He was the one who would leave with the scars.

On deck things were stirring. At that moment Jack felt all the shock of the world around him; he felt as though he had been gone years instead of a night. Had anyone noticed Elizabeth slip out of his cabin? Gibbs had. He was there with a sly look on his face, which Jack refused to meet. Briskly, he straightened his vest and put on his hat.

"Mr. Gibbs. Is the ship prepared?"

"Aye Captain. The cannons are cleaned, the sails are mended—"

Elizabeth approached and cut him off. "Mr. Gibbs, I noticed a distinct lack of discipline below decks. I would advise you to look into it."

Gibbs tried to hide his curiosity by taking a swig from his flask. With another glance at Jack, he went off. Jack watched him go, suddenly shy. Elizabeth was so cool, so calm! She turned to him, business like.

"We have to start by talking with them. They have Will."

"Ah yes… dear William." Jack squinted into the sunrise, trying to adopt an air as casual as hers.

"We're meeting on Marco's Island at noon. No weapons except swords, we each bring three men. I've already spoken to Barbossa."

Noon? That was hours away! "Why the bloody hell did you do that?"

"Because he's one of the Pirate Lords, and the only one I know well enough to trust in negotiations."

"You of all people should know he's a fiend. I refuse to go with if he's coming."

"Refuse?" she tipped her chin. "I'm king. Obey me, or else."

"Or else what?" Jack asked with a mocking smile.

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and faced him. She licked her lips, remembering what it felt like to kiss him. Older, wiser, a hundred times more experienced, Jack almost frightened her. How did he maintain such composure? Her cheeks were burning. "Or else I'll—"

"Never mind, darlin'. I'll obey. I'm as eager to see the whelp as you. Extremely awkward situations on the horizon: I can hardly wait."

"He never liked you much either."

"He's sure to kill me if he ever finds out about how his charming fiancé was seduced by a wicked and unscrupulous scoundrel. But then, you tend to keep a lot of secrets from him, eh?"

"No more than I keep from everyone else." Elizabeth narrowed her gaze and tried not to sound as young as she felt. "Women are notorious for keeping secrets."

"Why do you think they're bad luck aboard ships?" Jack smirked. He wanted so much to hold her close and stop her from being so defensive, so proud.

"I wonder how Will ended up with them…" She was gazing out onto the horizon, and Jack stuck his hands into his pockets to keep from drawing her into his arms. What was it about her that fascinated him so?

"One look at you and he'll be back here in no time, doing penance." Jack leaned against the rail, his muscles tightening. "He wants to marry you, and you'd be a damn fool not to have him. Why, he's brave, heroic, somewhat good looking, as Turners go…"

"You don't have to talk me into it, Jack." She sounded angry, and he wondered why. "What's your plan here?"

"Get aboard the Dutchman." That was all he had to say. She drew in a sharp breath, understanding. Suddenly, everything made sense. He could perceive a hundred questions about to burst forth, and he couldn't stand to explain to her why. He didn't trust himself to win another argument with her.

"Jack, you don't have to do this!" she finally said, her hand moving to his dark face.

"I know that," he said, forcing a thoughtless smile and waving her hand off. "I'm doing it because I want to."

The look on her face shredded him, but he didn't want to hear a response. With a shake of his head, he walked towards the holds below deck. There was no way he would try to face this day sober.

* * *

**The Present: **

The ships were leaving. Jack emerged from his reverie to the cautious sounds of whispered excitement around him, as they crept closer to the bonfires and buildings. Had they won so easily? It hardly seemed possible!

It wasn't possible. Jack was the first to see the three lone longboats rowing towards shore. The fleet was merely moving to a more defensible position. Damn.

"What do we do now?" Kit hissed to Marta, who was watching the scene with wide blue eyes.

"Who knows French?" she asked abruptly. Kit raised his hand. Elizabeth raised hers halfway and shrugged. Jack frowned. The rest of the crowd, dispersed among the trees, was discussing which escape route to take.

"Quiet!" Elizabeth finally called to them. "We have another trick up our sleeves. The_Maudlin Belle _has a fair supply of French Navy coats from the raid they conducted only last week! Hurry, we haven't any time to spare. We have to make ourselves the French Navy!"

* * *

An envoy of six British Soldiers trudged through the shallow waves, complaining variously about the red tide and the stench of the bonfires. 

"Uncanny, I call it. The French knowing we were on our way," muttered old Adams, wishing he was at home in bed. "If this be some trick…"

"I say we blast them all," cried steely Joe, "and then say it was an accident."

"Yes, because the French monarch will probably not declare war on England if we say it was an accident," Adams returned scornfully. "These be dangerous times. It'll be the noose for us all if we start something up. We have our orders."

"Aye," Joe sighed, cowed. "We can at least do a decent investigation."

"Shh!" another of the party suddenly said, beckoning them. "Soldiers! Ahead…"

Indeed, they heard voices, merrily chattering close by. They were distinctly French.

"Name yourselves, for the Royal Navy of Her Majesty the Queen of England has come to hold talks with the servants of his Majesty the King of France."

The soldiers appeared. There were around twenty of them, all drinking and lounging upon a pack of disreputable women in bodices so low that the civilized English officers cringed. _French Heathens,_ they thought._Wanton and vulgar, all of them._

"English!" one bright eyed and muscular fellow cried in a thick French accent. "Bonjour! Why, welcome to our port, the Jewel of the Caribbean and the toast of our beloved King's eye. What brings you here from your own stuffy ships and prayer-booking?"

The other French soldiers laughed loudly. Adams adjusted his collar and stepped forward again.

"We have instructions from our King to take this port for His glory. The French have left it for some time unchecked, and it has festered into a haven for pirates and worse."

"Sacrebleu! What could be worse than pirates?" gasped the tall fellow, throwing his arm around a pretty woman in a yellow gown. "Allez!" he cried to his fellow soldiers. "We'll kill them all if they come! Our king knows well the value of his own property. Lese Mejeste, no?

"We mean no offence," Adams said. "But we have our orders."

"Tant pis, we must fight to the death!" cried Kit, enjoying the French accent immensely. "A hundred British soldiers dead for every Frenchman!"

"Now, now, I hope it doesn't come to that," Adams said, growing nervous. "We merely mean to assure our crown that this land will no longer be a breeding ground for corruption and lawlessness."

"Oh mon Dieu!" Kit cried dramatically, holding out his polished sword. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, as we say in France, Monsieur. But we can assure you, not a single law shall be broken under our watchful eyes. We even mean to reform these good women into cloth weavers. Tres belle, no?"

Adams glanced around at the small number of soldiers, trying to keep a clear head. The streets of Tortuga looked dark and deserted. "Where is your navy?"

"Only around the bay, storming Port au Prince, what else, my good sir?" Kit cried. "They'll be back at dawn."

Adams glanced back at his men as if to say, thank God we didn't attack. "Very well, soldier. Keep up the good work."

"Au revouir monsieur! Give my respect to your Queen… and vive la France!"

"Vive la France!" cried the pirates lustily. Adams bowed and he and his men headed toward their boat.

"My superior, the Duke of Birmingham, will be here in a few weeks with the rest of our Navy," Adams called back to the surprised pack. "They will be overjoyed to know of the French restoring order. Perhaps they can even assist you in your work. Look forward to their visit!"

Elizabeth felt her blood run cold at title _Duke of Birmingham. _Without thinking, she fired her gun, and instantly the real fighting broke out...


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9. Please review!**

* * *

The Duke of Birmingham was not a name well received by any pirate in the Caribbean, but Elizabeth Turner had special reason to hate him. He had taken her child.

She was a pirate, and so she shot the bearer of bad news. Shooting Adams wasn't the cleverest thing Elizabeth had ever done, but it certainly felt first-rate. For good measure, she shot three more. And smiled. Almost as if she had shot the Duke himself. She would hate the Royal Navy forever, and make them pay.

"Woah!" Jack cried, lunging to hold her back, but by that time, the contents of the other three longboats were out and defending their fallen comrades with gusto. Shots whizzed back and forth; pirates fell, forgetting their French accents, they cursed in English. Infuriated at being tricked, the English yanked up their tri-corn hats and signaled the fleet behind them.

"This could be bad," Kit shouted, shoving pretty Marta behind him as he went head to head with Steely Joe. "Methinks we ought to have taken Jack's suggestion."

"Thank you!" Jack cried, pushing Elizabeth's head down to shoot the soldier behind her. She took a whack at his knees and he jumped back. The disreputable women had all produced weapons and joined the fray. "Next time maybe you'll listen to me!"

"Is there going to be a next time?" Barbossa asked, a pistol blazing from each hand. The soldiers were dead, but the fleet was moving in. Canon fire began to sound, even though they were still out of range.

"They'll burn Tortuga to the ground," Elizabeth muttered, reloading her pistol. "We can either make a run for it, or—"

"I don't want to hear an 'or'," Jack said. "It usually involves putting my life on the line."

"She'll put your sorry life on the line if she chooses! She's King." Barbossa cried, defending Elizabeth. He was wondering whether he could shoot Charles Vane in the commotion and get away with it. Probably not. Things had quieted for the moment.

"The King!" Vane cried, gleefully bowing to her. "Time for plan B. What _is_ plan B, then?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips, hiding a smile. She felt so wicked, she could hardly keep a straight face as she said, "Jack Sparrow, step forward."

Jack shook his head dramatically. "I hope you aren't thinking of sacrificing me. According to Royal Navy advertisements, I'm worth a mere 50 bars of silver. Hardly enough to ransom a city."

"Ah, but Calico Jack Rackham was worth 300 bars of silver: plenty for a shanty-town like this."

A murmur went through the crowd. And then a louder murmur.

"Jack Rackham is dead. Hung in Jamaica three years ago," Barbossa said confidently. "A shame, too. From what I hear, he was a man to be reckoned with."

"He isn't dead," Elizabeth insisted. "Calico Jack, step right up. Your King commands it."

Jack Sparrow stepped up. His eyes were boring holes in Elizabeth. He had never wanted to kill her more than he did right now. The crowd lurched and gasped in astonishment.

"Calico Jack? And Jack Sparrow? One and the same? Impossible! Rackham's dead!" And other various expletives sounded off. Elizabeth strode forward boldly, pulled Jack towards her, and then bent down, rolling one of his pant-legs up past his knee. There, just above his right knee, was the mark "C", condemned pirate, marked to be hung. And next to it, a tattoo in the shape of a rag-doll. Calico Jack, alive and well after taking on an old identity he had previously given up.

"Very well. You've got me. You've ruined me cover, exposed me secret. Now what's your plan?"

No one seemed to care about the plan anymore. "How did you escape?! Someone was hanged… if it wasn't you, who was it?" Barbossa marched forward.

"There's something mighty fishy about this. How in the blazes did you know where to find that mark?" He was accusing Elizabeth with his eyes, and the crowed caught on. Elizabeth doubled back, trying to think of a good excuse. Kit glowered at Jack.

"In your dreams, mate? Looks like she had the exact same dreams."

"We were drunk and went swimming," Elizabeth blurted out. "And I dared him to undress. That's when I saw the mark."

The crowd was not convinced. Jack shook his head at Elizabeth with a pitying grin. "Since she betrayed her own knowledge freely and fairly, I have no problem telling you all that I, Jack Sparrow, previously known as Calico Jack Rackham (before that identity was killed off in an unfortunate event), made love to Elizabeth Turner, Pirate King, prior to killing Cutler Beckett… and I enjoyed every minute of it."

"Jack!" Elizabeth cried, aghast. "How could you?"

"How could _you_, love? That's the real question."

"We're going to ransom him," Elizabeth suddenly shouted to the crowd, gaining back their attention. "Forget the past. What matters now is saving Tortuga, or finding ourselves without one safe port left in the Caribbean. I'll demand parley, and promise to give up their oldest and most-hated enemy, Calico Jack Rackham, in exchange for the safety of Tortuga. Savvy?"

Jack was annoyed. "You could have done the same with Charles Vane."

"No…" Elizabeth said with an evil smile. "Calico Jack is a byword among the Navy, and you know very well why."

"I just don't understand how _you_ know why," Jack returned, fingering his weapon. "They watched Rackham hang. They'll never believe you."

"I've got all the proof I need," Elizabeth said haughtily. "I've read every correspondence between my father and the King for the past five years. They know Rackham is alive, they just didn't know who he had become. And now they will."

"Damn," Jack muttered. "Once again, I am ten steps ahead of everyone else and one step behind Mrs. Turner." He held out his wrists. "At least I know you'll have to come up with some way to get me out," he finally called as Elizabeth bound him. "It's not likely you'll reach the Fountain of Youth without my charts and my help."

"What, these charts?" Kit stepped forward, swinging them in his hand with a twinkle in his eye. "I think between the two of us, we'll be able to manage fine without you."

Jack looked around, hiding his sinking heart with that cool grin he was so famous for. "Betrayed again. My lot in life, it seems. But never fear, sweetheart," here he addressed Elizabeth, who was preparing one of the longboats. "I forgive you. I'll tell you that now, so you don't have to bring me back from the locker to find out and risk your pretty head for naught again. Savvy?"

She faced him. "I don't need your forgiveness, Jack. It's just a matter of leverage."

"Ah yes," he nodded, his eyelids hooded. "Leverage. At least this time, you didn't have to give me the Judas kiss. Likely that would break your promise to dear William anyway, and he would turn into a heartless monster to terrify the seas. But then, you've made your choice, haven't you?"

Elizabeth couldn't bear his gaze any longer: rather than being hateful, it was suddenly adoring. Cringing, she turned around. "Marta, take your friend Porter and two less conspicuous criminals. Row this man to the Royal Flagship, and make the trade-off. If things go ill, keep to the code." She strode away. Jack watched her go as the young Porter boy herded him into the longboat, his face immobile, impassive, cold.

Elizabeth didn't turn back until the longboat was reaching the flagship, and then she watched the distant figures hold up a white flag and climb aboard. Trembling, she seized a bottle of whiskey from Kit and downed it in one gulp. He put his arm around her shoulder.

"You did the right thing, Elizabeth," he said sincerely, his warm hands holding her close to his broad chest. "He'll find his own way out."

"I'll go after him," she sighed. "I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand. There was no other way. But I won't let him be killed."

"What was he saying about you breaking faith with your husband?"

"You've heard the stories, I suppose, of Davy Jones…"

"I am acquainted with your situation," Kit nodded, his eyes sincere with sympathy. "But I thought you would have known by now. The goddess laid down very specific rules about the curse. Breaking faith, in her mind, is not quite what you may think."

"What?" Elizabeth's face wrinkled with confusion, and her heart pounded. "What are you saying, Charles?"

"I'm saying, that from the goddess's own lips I've heard the curse demystified. Your sole responsibility is to await the Captain of the Flying Dutchman at the end of ten years, and be there when he returns to spend one day on land. What you do in between is between you and the sea, between you and your own heart." His lips curled into a hesitant smile. "A woman's heart is full of secrets. Even for two lovers united in Holy Matrimony, they can never know for certain if the other has been true or constant. So it is with the Captain and his Beloved. In between your meetings, fidelity is left to your own heart's conscience."

Elizabeth stood, stricken. "I don't believe you. The word faithfulness implies that—I am keeper of his heart, Charles! I married him, truly! I could never, never…"

"Of course, fair King," Charles soothed, smoothing her hair. "I wasn't implying that you would abandon your true love simply because you were free to."

"Am I… free to?"

"Yes, from the lips of the goddess. I swear on my life I heard as much. He will remain whole and his heart safe in your care, despite what you choose to do. Only be careful to be there at his return. This is the extent of your vow."

"No, it isn't!" Elizabeth cried. "The goddess may have said as much, but I made the vow to Will knowing full well what I was doing! I am his wife, and I'll remain true to him. In that respect, I will never be a pirate."

"True to him…" Kit repeated, tilting his head back. "As you remained true to him during your engagement?"

He walked away, and Elizabeth stood in silent turmoil. She tried desperately to tell herself that what Kit had said made no difference, didn't change a thing for her. But the trouble was, it _could_ change everything for her, and she knew it…

* * *

Onboard the _Norfolk_, Marta and her envoy found themselves immediately surrounded by an angry crew of Royal Navy soldiers. Captain Lester was there, his gun pointed at Jack. 

"You are all under arrest, for the murder of our crewmen and piracy, likely as nought," he said in a thick nasal voice. Lester was a stocky, serious man who did things by the book. He had risen to his position after the untimely death of the former Captain Winkle, much beloved by the crew, and was having a difficult time filling Winkle's shoes. The capture of a few criminals was sure to help morale.

"But I'm not a criminal!" Marta cried innocently, placing herself in front of Jack and widening her sultry blue eyes. "I'm the messenger. And you know what they say in dear Windsor… never shoot the messenger!"

Her winning smile caused the crew to lower their weapons, and Lester to nod her on. They all attempted to keep their eyes away from the plunging neckline of her yellow bodice, where a strict corset was doing its duty to perfect her figure.

"I come as spokesman for the rulers of yonder shantytown. They offer a ransom in return for promised safety."

"Bargain with pirates?" Lester sucked in his fat cheeks, and Marta bit her lip to keep from laughing at him.

"I'm not a pirate," she said, her voice light and seductive. "I'm a loyal citizen to the English crown, as many are here in Tortuga. Pirates may assail us, but we remain law-abiding citizens. And now we offer you this prize as a token of our sincerity. Perhaps you've heard of the escape of Calico Jack Rackham?"

Next to her, John Porter was staring at Marta like he had seen a ghost. He had been in love with her for at least two years, ever since the day he had accidentally seen her bathing in the sea one night, naked, her golden hair a mermaid song to his heart. And now he realized he knew nothing about her. This was no simple island lass, hoping to settle down with a true love and watch the years go by. Here before him was a criminal, a liar, a _pirate_. He shivered in his too-large boots. She was _wonderful_!

"Calico Jack Rackham?" Indeed, Lester had heard with great indignation of his escape. Why, it had been a Royal Navy Soldier hung in his place! The outrage caused many an old hand's cheeks to burn that year. The crown was disgraced before its colonies. Vengeance on the scurvy knave would be worth a pretty penny and an even prettier commendation from the King himself, surely.

"This is he. He's been in hiding these three years, and probably much longer, under the name Jack Sparrow." And with that, Marta rolled up his trouser and showed them the mark. The crew gasped. Lester smiled.

"It seems, lass, we have an accord." He pointed his gun at Jack, and Marta jumped forward in horror.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"Calico Jack Rackham has already been tried for treason and sentenced to death. There is simply no reason to wait around and give him precious time to escape."

And with that, Lester pulled the trigger.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ch. 10. I certainly am having fun re-arranging and distorting history for my own plot devices. But hey, if Disney can do it, why not us? **

* * *

At the exact moment Lester pulled the trigger, three things happened. First, Jack did what any decent self-respecting pirate would do, and ducked before the bullet had left the gun. Second, Marta did what any foolish young lady who thinks she is in love would do, and leaped in front of Jack. And third, Porter, sensing Marta's impulse, did what any awkward youth who wants to prove himself a man would do and tackled Marta to the ground.

Suffice it to say, the bullet hit the rail of the ship and no one was hurt. Lester was unaware of the conversation that had taken place on the longboat just a few minutes prior:

* * *

**Just a few minutes prior:**

"Calico Jack Rackham," Marta whistled through her teeth. "More notorious than a pack of Tortuga pirates. More feared than any Blackbeard to ever trouble Port Morgan…" and she would have gone on in admiration, except Jack was clearly not enjoying the talk.

"How did you manage to escape?" asked one of the tag-alongs, a half-French, half-Polynesian fellow with a thick beard, who was spitting tobacco into the sea with regularity.

"Sea turtles, mate," Jack replied, but without bravado.

"Tell me, Jack!" Marta begged. "Please?"

"Not on your life, darlin'. You're taking me to be hanged. Unless you've got a plan to get me out, my secret will go with me back to the grave."

"As it happens, I do have a plan for your escape. But it will cost more from you than a story."

"Thieving wench," Jack muttered. "I ought to have had you on me crew years ago. You're worse than that ox Barbossa."

Marta gleamed with pride, and began unbraiding her hip-length golden hair. She pinched her cheeks, straightened her gown, and pulled her stockings up. "Payment is a full divulgence of that story, along with a promise to help me track down the _Queen Anne's Revenge_."

Jack gave her a perplexed look. "Why in God's name, may I ask? Do you have a death wish?"

"No…" Marta said slowly, "I have the age-old stupidity to want to know my father. That's all."

It was Jack's turn to whistle. "I wondered where you'd gotten your style."

"Alright then, what's it to be?"

"Bonny Anne."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Bonny Anne! Anna-Maria, as I called her. She got me out. And then I stole her ship, changed me name back to an earlier identity, and started wearing long trousers and boots. That's the whole story and nothing but the story, so help me God. Though it's been a mite distorted and exaggerated by others since."

"That's it?" Marta sounded disappointed. "Very well, Sparrow. I will shake your hand—" she kissed him on the mouth instead—"and seal our bargain. You don't have to do a thing except trust me."

"I don't trust any woman. A plague, all of them," Jack declared, with a bitter look back towards Tortuga.

"I suppose we are," Marta agreed. "But men are worse. Suspect your own husband, my mother always said. Keep a knife under your pillow and a lover in the closet, if you want a marriage to survive."

"Well that's not very nice," Jack said, making a face. They were getting very close to the flagship, and Porter was waving around a white flag, signaling parley. It had to be getting close to dawn—the night seemed interminable. Jack was trying to ignore the despair rising in his heart. He wasn't afraid of dying—he had escaped worse scrapes than this before. But Elizabeth had betrayed him—betrayed his secret, betrayed his trust in her, handed him over as ransom for her own life… again. Every time he thought he had her figured, she shape-shifted before his eyes, usually to his detriment. And now, it seemed, she didn't care a two-pence for him, beyond the charts he had provided.

"Don't be vexed, Jack," Marta said, massaging his shoulders. "A pirate has to do what a pirate has to do. It doesn't mean anything."

"I never thought I'd see the day when my life resembled a Shakespearian tragedy," Jack said gruffly. He sliced the ropes that were cutting off his circulation on Marta's dagger, and then looped them back together loosely. "This is going to require some serious revenge, if I get out alive."

"What sort of revenge?" Porter asked.

"Revenge of the worst kind." Jack's eyes gleamed black. "I'm going to track down her husband."

* * *

**The Present:**

Elizabeth heard the shot fired on the _Norfolk_, and it sliced right through her heart with a cold wave of shock. She was alone on the beach, trying to come up with a way to free Jack and escape alive towards the Fountain of Youth, but the whiskey had gone to her head. The shot echoed across the sky, and a moment later, she heard a shrieking cry that must have been Marta's.

She was up in a flash, running towards the town, her feet sinking into the wet sand and the steady pounding of her own heartbeat accompanying her. All around, the blackest moment before the night begins to recede was thick and livid with fate, aboriginal and stirring. She did not think. She ran.

She must have arrived outside the _Faithful Bride_, but she had no memory of it. Kit saw her at once, and disentangled himself from a wench he followed her outside. Cicadas buzzed around them, and a thousand images flashed through Elizabeth's head. Panic was overcoming her, panic at being left alone again, panic of losing the last person she trusted.

"I heard a shot… someone crying… from the ship—Jack, is Jack dead?"

Kit took a breath and fixed his eyes on the horizon. And then, he was instantly in action. "Get the other longboat. We're going to find out."

Back on the _Norfolk_, the rapid series of events resulted in Jack, Marta, and Porter all in a heap on the deck, while Lester squinted and re-aimed his pistol.

"Now, now, up you go, Mr. Rackham," he said. "No use fighting fate."

"It's not fate!" Another voice cried. Joshamee Gibbs, decked out head to toe in Royal Navy attire, fairly lunged into the circle. His Captain looked at him. Gibbs thought fast. "its bad luck to shoot a condemned criminal in front of his wife," he blurted out. And then, encouraged by the crew's response, he continued: "_And_ their unborn child!"

Marta caught on and clutched her abdomen, wailing loudly. Jack rolled his eyes—Gibbs had taken the lie too far.

Lester was both confused and considerably ruffled. "Why on earth would a pregnant woman trade in her pirate husband to be killed in the first place?" he asked, voicing the opinion of the crew. Gibbs choked and looked desperately at Marta.

"Because he broke faith with me… in the arms of the Pirate King!" Marta cried without thinking. Jack wished the crew would shoot them all and put them out of their misery.

"The Pirate King? And this character is in Tortuga, you say?" Lester was suddenly very interested. Two major criminals caught in one net? It seemed too good to be true.

Marta blanched and pinched Jack. Jack got to his feet.

"In Tortuga? Never! The woman to whom my dear wife is referring sailed away not three hours ago… in the direction of Jamaica. If you hurry, you might catch her before she reaches port! Quite a feather in your cap that would be, mate. But you'd better keep us alive, if you're thinking of tracking her. We know how to capture her."

"We do?" Porter asked, dumbfounded. Marta ground her heel into his foot.

"So, a woman with child finds out her husband has been with the Pirate King, who has sailed for Jamaica three hours ago even though there wasn't a wind in the sky, and decides to turn him in to be hung, only to demand he not be killed in front of her. Meanwhile, twenty of our best soldiers are dead on the beach, French flags are flying, and there are no Frenchmen to be seen. There's something mighty suspicious about all this. Care to explain, or shall I just lock you all into the brig and have done with it?"

"Captain, if I may interject," Gibbs said, "I think you'll find the poor missy is a bit addled in the head. Heatstroke, I shouldn't wonder."

"It's November!" Lester spat at the sailor he knew as Pickering. "And why are you so interested in their fates?"

Gibbs thought. Nothing came to his brain. In desperation, he did what any decent self-respecting ex-pirate would do. With a sudden flurry, he pointed to the North and shouted "Look! Look at that!" with all the agitation he could muster. Twenty-three heads, Captain Lester's among them, looked anxiously to the North, and a second later they heard the spark of a fuse being lit.

Jack was standing with a cannon point directly at them. Gibbs and Porter were getting another into place, and Marta had a pistol in each hand. On odds alone, the sailors ought to have fought. But Jack's voice was dark and commanding as he said, "Gentlemen, don't move an inch. Drop your weapons or I'll blast you straight to Davy Jones' Locker."

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, twenty-two men were crammed into the brig of the _Norfolk_, and Lester was tied up on deck, having a chat with the new Captain.

"You commandeered my ship without firing a single shot," Lester was saying, ashamed. "If you weren't so famous, I'd feel like a real wanker."

"You _are_ a wanker," Jack returned with a grin. "And we're going to have some fun with the rest of the fleet. If that Gibbs would ever get back."

"Here, Captain!" Gibbs had found the rum, and delivered a bottle to Jack.

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack said with serious annoyance. "You have exactly three minutes to explain to me what in God's name you are doing as a sailor of the Royal Navy."

Gibbs looked sheepish, and he loosened his collar. "Well, Jack, you know how it is… bills adding up… old debts needing to be paid. Piracy wasn't bringing home the bacon, if you understand me. I thought I'd take on a second job, just for a while, to make ends meet."

Jack nodded mournfully. "You are forgiven for your serious indiscretion, Mr. Gibbs. I only hope you've learned your lesson. If money be tight, it's time to employ a gang of thieves, not go pledging health to the King."

"Aye, Captain."

"Jack!" Marta's sharp voice interrupted them, "There's someone coming! Charles Vane and what looks like your unrequited love, in a longboat."

"She is not my unrequited love," Jack barked. He had not expected the suggestion of her approach would cause him such pain. "Nor will I tolerate such jokes in the future. Aim a cannon at them, and let them come aboard. The rest of you, get below decks. Mr. Lester is going to deal with them, aren't you?"

"Whatever you say, Captain," said Lester. He was too young to die for his country. Morals and standards and honor were all well and good, but if playing these pirates' game was what it took to survive, he would play.

"Jack, I'm concerned you are acting on emotion instead of foresight," Gibbs muttered, stepping closer to Jack. "There's something you have to know about Charles Vane. If you leave Elizabeth to him, you'll be playing right into his hands!"

"Damn his hands," Jack swore. "Damn everything to do with him and her and their forthcoming journey to the Fountain of Youth, where she can eternally pledge her devotion to her own self-interest."

"But Jack, that man Adams was right, the Duke of Birmingham is crossing the Atlantic as we speak, and he won't honor any agreement you've made with the Navy, nor be fooled by our lucky victory here. And he's coming for a reason: Charles Vane has agreed to—"

"Mr. Gibbs!" Gibbs shut his mouth, and Jack pursed his lips. "I am not interested in your oddly acquired or endlessly dismal predictions. Savvy?"

"Aye Captain," Gibbs exhaled.

"Oy, Marta!" Jack called after her. "Find me some poultry or whatever animals they have in the hold, and bring one here."

Marta gave him a funny look. "Faking your own death again? This is becoming a bad habit."

Jack took a deep breath. "This will be the last time."

* * *

Elizabeth leaped onto the ladder without pausing to hear Kit's plan, if indeed he had one. A madness had come over her; she didn't know what she was doing, only knew she had to see Jack, had to know if he was alive.

The deck was deserted, save one lone sailor at the helm. The Captain. But Elizabeth saw a dark pool of blood spreading across the deck. Her heart fluttered in horror. She ran to Lester.

"Jack Sparrow? Where is he?" she gasped. Kit was behind her.

Lester smiled an evil smile, as instructed. The eerie glow of the lanterns helped. Elizabeth shivered, on some awful brink. "He's dead. I shot him. Known criminal, you understand. And now your pitiful town is safe, just as you wanted."

Jack stood behind the masthead, hardly daring to breath. The tone of Elizabeth's voice, frantic, anguished, full of passion, was almost enough to cause him to run out and come clean, hold her in his arms, promise her everything would be alright, _he_ would never abandon her. But the war in his heart kept him still. She had betrayed him cruelly; he jolly well _might_ be dead right now. It was time she learned to pay the consequences of her actions… wasn't it? He had forgiven her a thousand times. Surely this was the last straw.

She was screaming. Screaming his name, heartbreak in every syllable. He stole a glance at her; Kit had her in his arms, muffling her cries as Lester commanded them both of his ship, lest he have their heads too. She was like a storm on the sea, her eyes wild with despair, choked with sobs. Jack trembled, and noticed with bitter surprise there were tears streaming down his face. This was goodbye, then. True goodbye. He wasn't coming back to her, wasn't going to see her again. He had made his choice, brashly perhaps, but the thing was done.

The sun was rising. Gulls began to cry out; sea birds, pelicans, and sparrows cluttered the sky with their wild, sweet music. Jack looked back towards the docks, where he saw his Pearl tied, the gold of morning light sweeping across her even hull. He looked away, unmoved. _Only a ship_, he had said. And so it was. The Black Pearl had suddenly become nothing more than a vessel for _her_, a place where she would live and wake each morning, far away from him, perhaps smiling. The ship that had once spelled freedom to him was now inextricably tied to Elizabeth. To the Pirate King.

He had one more errand concerning this woman who had haunted his dreams since he first laid eyes on her, and then he would cut Elizabeth from his memory and never think of her again. Dead to her, perhaps he would finally be free of her.

* * *

**Now, do me a favor and click the pretty button below that says "submit review", and I promise not to leave you hanging too long. Constructive criticism always appreciated. Cheers! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11. Thanks so much for the reviews! Part of this chapter might be what you call gratuity... but I do love the smell of sparrabeth in the morning. **

* * *

**Two Weeks Later.**

Elizabeth lay half-awake as a sunbeam moved slowly across the floor. It was morning, she was in the Captain's quarters of the Black Pearl. Some feeling of hopelessness hung over her, but her mind couldn't quite pinpoint what. A noise startled her fully awake and she remembered: Jack was dead.

Remorse and anguish swept over her, and she struggled to sit up. Charles Vane was asleep in a chair by the door. How long had it been? Two weeks since they departed from Tortuga under his orders? For days Elizabeth remained silent, and now she had drifted into a pattern of excessive sleep; only in her dreams, it seemed, could she find the peace she so desperately needed.

A terrible burden in one lifetime, having to mourn Jack twice. And both times, having to shoulder the guilt on her own back. Elizabeth closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow, allowing memories of Jack's warm humor and gentle touch to wash over. She envisioned his sun-darkened face filled with mocking laughter against the blue ocean sky, his rough voice, the taste of his mouth. A single gunshot or the jaws of the kraken, it made no difference. His death was more painful for her, Elizabeth thought, than it could possibly have been for him.

This time was worse than before. There was no one to make things right, no plan, no sliver of a way out, no chance to bring him back. Elizabeth was alone. And she was keeping to the code, as Vane convinced her she must. He was a pirate, Vane had told her, and for him a criminal's death had always been inevitable. She had not shot him herself, he argued, merely instrumented a fate he had already chosen for himself. She still had a job to do, a treasure to find, a child to gain, a husband to remain faithful to. The weight of reality pressed down on Elizabeth's chest, squeezing the air from her lungs, pinning her to the bed. Oh, that she had died instead! Why did she always survive? Why must she always be left?

A knock at the door yanked her out of her indulgent memories. Barbossa.

"We're less than a day away from the coast," he said, regarding the still-sleeping Vane grimly. Elizabeth looked at him out of haunted eyes, and Barbossa sighed and paced the room with his restless, commanding gait. She had always been too pretty for her own good, but now, having lost weight since they departed from Tortuga, she had a deathly pall that made her eyes seem twice as large. Tragedy seemed to follow her. But her stubbornness kept her alert during the day, kept her at the helm, overseeing their journey and taking command of their decisions. She refused to appear as affected by Jack's death as Barbossa knew she was. Perhaps she had just become experienced enough with grief to hide it.

"The charts indicated we take the overland route to St. Augustine. Once there, we can go by river."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded. Elizabeth had slept in her clothes, and standing up, she shook herself slightly and began plaiting her thick hair. "Listen to me, lass," Barbossa said. "It's a chancy world. Best not get too close to the rogues that come your way. You'll only be hurt by them."

"Jack was a good man," Elizabeth returned defensively. Barbossa narrowed his eyes and nodded his head in the direction of the occupied chair.

"I wasn't speaking of Jack, my dear. I was speaking of Charles Vane."

* * *

Jack woke at the exact moment Elizabeth did, and felt his head bleary from too much drink the previous night. Devil take it, Marta was in his bed. How drunk had he been? They were both fully clothed; that was a good sign. Jack stood and swayed, nearly falling. Accustomed to the effects of heavy drinking, he stumbled over to the battered table and downed a few swallows of rum. It tasted rancid on his swollen tongue; he wanted coffee. 

"Jack!" Gibbs was at the door. "The fleet requires direction." Jack smiled, recalling the fleet he now led at will. With Lester lying his stuffy lips off, half the Royal Navy found itself unknowingly commanded by a pirate with wicked intentions. The _Norfolk_ remained flagship; the crew remained locked below, shivering, worrying, and waiting for a chance to rebel.

"I've told you a hundred times where we are going, and leave it to your discretion how to justify it," Jack said staunchly.

"But Jack, as I've replied to you a hundred times, we haven't got the charts."

"We don't need the bloody charts," Jack said, dangling his compass in front of Gibbs as he had a hundred times. He had grown to hate the piece of voodoo for all the trouble it had previously caused him, but as it seemed to be working now, he refrained from hurtling it to the depths. "I said set course for the middle of nowhere. What about that do you not understand?"

Gibbs had seen Jack vexed, irritated, frightened, even murderously angry before. But Jack's mood had declined so steadily since taking the _Norfolk_ and fleeing, along with the rest of the ships, Tortuga bay, that Gibbs began to wonder whether he wouldn't end up shooting them all. "Captain, maybe we ought to put in somewhere for a few days, bury some treasure… maroon some soldiers… something to cheer you up, eh?"

"I don't need cheering up," Jack asserted, as if confused why Gibbs would suggest such a thing. "I'm fit as a fiddle. Happy as a clam. More or less perfectly satisfied with my miserable life."

And as if to prove his point, he downed the rest of the rum and fell onto the bed. Marta sat up and looked at Jack for a moment, as if trying to recall why she had ended up in his cabin.

"Hullo, Gibbs," she said, attempting to conceal her hangover. She lurched around the room, bumping into things and cursing. "Any sign of _Queen Anne's Revenge_?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

Jack avoided Marta's eyes. "I always find the _Revenge_ on my way into the middle of nowhere. She'll turn up. Trust me."

"Not a chance, Sparrow," Marta said, disappointed at finding the rum bottle empty. "You swore it."

"I am on an important mission of revenge," Jack protested. "We can go fulfill your death wish later."

"Listen to me, Jack… your mission of revenge clearly involves a death wish of your own, which seems contradictory to me since you have already died several times, but in any case I absolutely refuse to relegate my own death wish as lacking importance in comparison to yours. Give me the compass."

Pretending to be defeated, Jack tossed it to her. She opened it, looked at it, frowned, looked at Jack, pursed her lips, and shook it. Jack laughed. "I thought as much. Mr. Gibbs, since our pretentious missy seems to be unconcerned in the interests of the group, maybe its best to lock her in the brig and let her talk things out with our dear sailors."

"Touch me and you die!" Marta cried, though she had no weapon. Gibbs ignored her and took hold of one slender wrist.

"Captain's orders, lass. I _am_ sorry."

"Jack, you're a cheat and a scoundrel, and—"

"I believe the word you're looking for is _pirate_," Jack said dryly.

* * *

Elizabeth stood leaning against the mast, drowning in memories. She had thought a hundred times about what had happened at the Brethren Court, but now her memory drifted farther back to only a few days after they had rescued Jack from the locker…

* * *

**1 year, 7 months earlier…**

She was barely drifting off when the door banged open; no knock, no surprise. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and wondered whether she ought to go through the motions of grasping for her robe. But wait, no, this wasn't Port Royal… it was the cabin of the Pearl—Jack's old cabin, and they were all drifting through the Locker, trapped in the Locker, unable to find their way out and condemned to die, perhaps.

"Good evening, Ms. Swann." He was smoking, a cigar perhaps? She'd never seen him smoke before, but the smell wasn't displeasing. It was so good to hear his voice, even if he did hate her. _Don't apologize,_ she told herself. _Just pretend like nothing ever happened. _

"What do you want Jack? At least give me a minute to make myself decent." Damn protocol. Why did she always play the proud lady around him? Why couldn't she just be Elizabeth, the Elizabeth she knew he wanted to see? She reached around for a bit of string and tied her hair back. He wouldn't win, not yet anyways.

Jack had his back to her, playing along. "Decent yet?" He was mocking her, but she didn't mind. She was being absurd and she knew it. She stood and smoothed the covers.

"All right, turn." He did. He glanced her over. She must look a fright, hair pulled back or not. Did the man never sleep? Did the constant rum never get to him? A long night of drinking their troubles away was meant to end in a headache and bed, not a cheery conversation in the too-early morning. "Are you here to sell your freedom for revenge?"

Jack pretended to be shocked, swinging around on the heel of his boot, and Elizabeth couldn't tell whether he was offended or merely amused. "I resent that implication!" He quipped, "That anyone or anything would hinder me love affair with a free life, or being alive, for that matter."

"I take that to mean you weren't serious the time you proposed to me," she replied with sarcasm.

"You're too controlling, love. And too good at killing me. I'd never sleep at night."

Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to ascertain whether she was afraid of him or entranced by him. Neither of them would sleep much, that was certain, but it would have nothing to do with fear or mistrust.

"Well," she said, tilting her head to the side, "What are we to do then?"

Jack was relishing the conversation. The twinkle in his eye reminded Elizabeth of the moment he had seen his ship on the horizon, the day in Port Royal she and Will had saved his life. She ought to have let him hang. It was becoming too easy, always putting her life on hold for him.

Jack pulled out his signature bottle of rum and took a swig, not offering her any. "Nothing to do, the way I see it, except keep playing these little games. I hate to tell you this, but you blush like a virgin every time I get close."

"That's because I_am_ a virgin!" she said, slamming her hand down on the table and seizing the bottle with the other. She enjoyed the sharp sting down her throat, anything for a moment to recover.

"Are ye now?" came his voice, softer than she had expected it. She shoved the rum back into his hand.

"Yes. The man I'm with would never compromise my honor."

"Ah, but he's not here now," Jack said with a sly smile, though Will was still on the ship, and therefore too close for comfort. "Is he? No, I'm afraid it's just you and me, love."

"You and me… and the good man inside you."

"You know, Ms. Swann, I changed me mind about something. As I've decided it, sometimes when you give enough you _can_ have it all. If there's what a man can do and what a man can't do, then it only holds true there's what a man can have and what a man can't have. Well, I've spent a lot of life 'can't having' things I've wanted, and this time around, that's going to change. Do you understand me?"

No she didn't, not a word… there was too much she couldn't have, too much she couldn't do. But then, he was Jack Sparrow, and he was back from the world's end, and perhaps everything he said was true after all, for him anyway. She shifted her weight and didn't look him dead in the eye, because those eyes got her off on faraway sunsets and the mud of adventure that she was trying so hard to scrape off her heart. He didn't need a response. He stepped closer, brashly, pirate-like, uncaring of her discomfort. Her emotions bent wryly— no regard for personal space, this one.

"I thought we settled this, Jack. Only a few days ago, when we found you. Surely you've come to understand where I am."

He ignored her. She had refused steadily to acknowledge what she had done to him, though Jack suspected her apology would eventually come tumbling out. Damn that to hell. He saw freedom in her eyes, those eyes that had left a trail of heartache across the Caribbean. He was going to be the end of that trail one day… he was the pirate lord, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

"I gave enough, I did. I gave it all, so I'm going to have it all. In my way, on my terms." And his smile glinted before her, not sardonic but boyish and free, oh heaven, so free it hurt. Nothing to cling to now but her cynicism.

"You're mad. You can't have it all, Jack. Sometimes you have to control yourself, give things up… sometimes it isn't that simple."

With that he knocked aside the table between them with a crash that left her standing still, ready for a blow. It only came in the form of his scent— distinct, smoky, enticing— and then his arms pulling her almost violently against his chest, daring her to protest as they moved roughly down the curve of her back until their bodies were aligned. She moaned softly, he was hurting her but she didn't want him to stop… she wanted him so much it hurt.

"Not simple, love? What's complicated about this? You've tempted me and you've tortured me and you've murdered me, and now I'm going to take what I want from you." Was this the way he had felt, the instant before she shackled him? No more racing thoughts, no more arguments in her head. All she knew were his hands pressing her against him with the reality of his threat. He meant it.

"You would do that to me?" she struggled to breath, but now his lips roved freely across her neck as he pulled on the string that held her hair, releasing it for his taking. Would he? He pulled back for a moment, his eyes deep with exhilaration.

"I'm a pirate." The grin was back, but before she could cry out or wriggle free he had swept her down onto the bed, and was that laughter coming from his mouth? "I'm a pirate," he repeated brutally. "Now close your eyes."

Why she obeyed him, she wasn't sure. It was not for Elizabeth Swann to obey anyone, but her eyes closed and she waited, perhaps aware for once that her physical strength could not match his, she could not escape it this time… or didn't want to escape.

And suddenly she felt the softest touch to her lips. Gently, tenderly he released the maniac grip from her wrists and slid up her arms, cupping her face. His muscles eased and his breath let out. Another kiss, not greedy but utterly inviting, a kiss beyond passion. With each kiss she felt the summer day warmth of his smile melt her terror until she rested against him, wrapped up in a world of calm and relief. _Pirate or not, this man saved me._

"You taste like adventure, love… have you been at the rum?" came that deep voice, just a hint of laughter to it. He sat up and brushed the hair off her face. He had gotten everything he wanted... She trusted him. He sighed deeply, with contentment.

She was trembling a little, she realized. Just a kiss, and she was shaking. She had steeled herself for the worst, and he had dissolved her with a kiss. He peered down at her, his voice still soft. Why had she never been able to imagine him like this, tender and warm and yielding? He was far more Jack in this moment than he'd ever been before. "You're shaking, love," he said.

"Don't mock me," she whispered. "I'm just a blushing virgin."

His coarse fingers traced over her lips. "Sometimes all I want is to protect you, but you keep proving you don't need it."

"Oh but I do," the words tumbled out of her and she leaned her face into his shoulder, drinking in his scent, so comfortable, understanding what it was to trust someone. "Sometimes I do."

He leaned down until they were nose to nose, until he could feel her eyelashes brushing against his cheek. "You have to tell me when those moments come. Savvy?"

She nodded. She was so tired of arguing and worrying and wondering what the next moment would bring, she could rest in his arms forever.

"Are you going to sleep?" he asked.

"Maybe," she murmured. "Stay with me. Stay with me and pretend we're through these doldrums. Pretend we're free, really free."

Jack nodded. Elizabeth was good at pretending. But neither of them was really free… he had died for her once, and he would do it again, he knew. The knowledge no longer irked him. And she? She had thrown in her lot with Turner, had made a promise to him that she wouldn't easily break. Her devotion to the boy was fierce but unnecessary. They both underestimated each other.

Jack idly traced his fingers along her face, still sunburned from sailing, her lips chapped. Why did everyone always look younger asleep? Her breathing steadied and he gently released his arms, pulling the worn blanket around her. And watching her there, Jack felt tired, more tired than he had felt in ages. He didn't want to fight her anymore, didn't want to fight himself. The old adventures seemed empty, hollow, and their call hardly roused his mind. He wanted new adventures, he wanted her. He wanted to know what it would be to let his guard down, as he had tonight, for always. Did she ache for that as well? Ache to finish their kisses? Of course her body responded to his… her mind chased after the freedom he described. But he couldn't keep himself steady much longer. Some day soon he would break, his control would snap and he would walk the plank and fall right in love. But not tonight. Tonight it was enough to kiss her, caress her hair, watch her drift off into oblivious sleep. When her breathing began to deepen and slow, he shifted off the bed and walked out onto the deck of his ship.

And he realized that she _still_ hadn't apologized. From that day on, until the moment of the Brethren Court, he avoided her. _It's for the best_, he reasoned, but they both seemed to know it was only a matter of time before they found themselves back in each other's arms.

* * *

**The Present: **

"Only a matter of time," Jack was saying to himself as he stared out at his fleet. "Only a matter of time until you find yourselves in a very bad predicament."

Gibbs joined him. "Captain, have you given any thought to what you'll do when we find the _Dutchman_?

Jack nodded his head. "Yes… I know exactly what I'm going to do."

* * *

**Coming Up... Blackbeard shows up, Marta overhears some strange information from Birmingham, a skeeze with an evil plot. Can Elizabeth stop moping long enough to repel Vane's advances, or will I have to bring Will into the story...? Read on to find out.   
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Ch. 12. Thanks so much for the reviews! This chapter is a bit short because there's another that will follow quickly.  
**

* * *

Will stood at the helm of the _Flying Dutchman_ with heavy sorrow sprinkled across his face, on another slow journey away from the locker. The curse's power lay, he found, in monotony. Back and forth they went, day and night, night and day, ferrying the dead. At first he had listened avidly to the stories, gathering news of what was happening in the world he had been separated from. But after many months they all sounded the same, all the news blurred together, all his memories became sawdust in his mouth and he didn't trouble to remember anything or anyone. Why should he? Life was an endless road of dark musings and unfulfilled yearnings; why resist the sweet forgetfulness that seemed to creep hold of his mind with each passing day, rooting itself like barnacles to the bottom of a ship? Why resist relief?

The smell of smoke and gunpowder snapped him alert, and he gazed through the fog, hearing the cry of many dead men needing to be ferried across. It was that cry that had drawn him to these waters; the _Dutchman_ was kept busy, but hundreds of voices in unison were enough to summon it. Debris littered across the waves began to flit past, the debris of what looked like Royal Navy ships, perhaps an entire fleet of them. Finally, Will began to see their wreckage ahead and he gasped; each ship was a twisted sinking carnage, most likely caused by an exploding powder magazine. The damage was too great for a single attack. Will wondered what could have cause such a number (thirty at least, it looked like) to explode and sink without warning.

There was one ship in the mess that was totally unharmed, a safe distance from the fleet. The flagship. Curious, Will perused its deck and nearly choked when he saw a familiar figure strolling around, watching the scene with grim pleasure. Will looked closer, demanding his telescope. But it was already too obvious to his eyes; Jack Sparrow was ahead, making straight for him.

* * *

"Well, that was a mite too easy," Jack was muttering to himself, almost glaring at the Flying Dutchman. Gibbs was peeling an orange next to him, nervousness showing in the network of creases spreading across his forehead. Jack turned to him. "Not to worry, mate. It's not going to attack. It's not a war ship any longer, remember?"

"Aye, Captain," Gibbs said, but the sight was disconcerting none the less.

"I'm just going to have meself a little chat, and then we'll be back in the Caribbean before you can say Morgan and Bartholomew." Jack didn't know why he was explaining himself to Gibbs. But more troubling was that he hadn't the foggiest notion what a "little chat" with Will would encompass. He had launched out on a reckless mission of vengeance—to make Elizabeth think he was dead (thereby assuring she never traded in his life for her own again) and get out of Elizabeth's sight (thereby ensuring he did not accidentally incite her to break faithfulness to Will) and track down her husband (something he had been certain she would not like, especially considering he had not brought her along.) And perhaps, on some level, he had imagined finding Will would be impossible with or without his compass because Will was meant to be in another realm, another world, on journeys that Elizabeth (let alone anyone else) could not take part in. Finding him off the coast of Tuamotu, plainly visible and probably hand-shakable, unsettled him. "Too close for comfort," Jack muttered. Did Elizabeth know how accessible he was? Sacrifice a few hundred Royal Navy sailors and you had yourself a private interview.

"Jack! Jack Sparrow!" It was Will's voice, shouting from across the narrow way between the ships.

Jack made a flamboyant gesture of greeting as though he couldn't imagine a happier reunion. In the blink of an eye, Will merged out of the woodwork of the _Norfolk_, eliciting a shiver from Jack, who was not quite prepared for Will's paranormal maneuvers.

"Jack Sparrow!" Will cried, holding out his hand. Jack took it with mild suspicion, shook it, and then put it back. "Haven't changed a bit. Did you ever find the Fountain of Youth, then?"

"Yes I'm afraid I did," Jack returned, wondering what was behind all Will's cheeriness. _Must have a brutal life if he thinks a visit from me is cause to be merry._ "I had no idea you were so… easy to find."

"Well, if you kill off a large number of people on the ocean, I'll be there," Will replied, indicating the wreckage. Jack smirked as if to excuse his behavior.

"They died for a good cause, mate."

"Is Elizabeth here?"

Jack noted that the question didn't hold the naïve eagerness it once might have. Something in the boy's face was different, darker, older. Though he hadn't grown any sea-life, his Captainage was clearly taking its toll on him. "Ah, Elizabeth. No, in fact. She's on her own adventure to find the Fountain of Youth, as it happens. But she sends regards."

Will's face betrayed not a flicker of emotion. Jack was impressed and vaguely troubled. "She's safe, though?"

Jack's face scrunched. "For the time being, mate. That's what I came here to talk to you about." _It is? Bugger my too-noble unconscious instincts_.

"Yes?"

"You're a terrible husband!" Jack blurted out, wondering whether Will had acquired any of Davy Jones' fighting skills, and hoping he had not. "Elizabeth was captured by the Royal Navy a year ago and almost killed. Her child—_your_ child—was taken from her. Now she's taken up with a nasty piece of work to track down that buggering Fountain to try and become immortal so she can stay alive with you. But she's meeting death at every turn, mate, and _you_ should be there to protect her. _You're_ her bloody husband, and you bloody well ought to be the one getting her out of scrapes and helping her make her decisions."

Jack broke off, feeling slightly embarrassed about his outburst. And he was having second thoughts about announcing to Will that he had a child when in fact, Jack had questioned all along the patronage. Either way, it didn't matter, he supposed. Elizabeth believed the child to be Will's.

"You love her. Why can't you protect her?" Will asked, his once-innocent eyes filled with frank cynicism. Jack was caught off guard.

"You're _married_ to her!" he shouted. "You're the one requiring her to be faithful at the expense of her happiness and possibly her life. Don't try and push the responsibility off on me. And anyways, I'm dead."

Will looked confused. Jack pursed his lips.

"To her, anyway. She traded me life to save her own… yet again. So you see, she's fully rejected my nobly-offered help. It's time you stepped in, mate, and did what any good husband would do."

"I'm not any good husband," Will replied calmly. "I'm the cursed _Captain of the Flying Dutchman_, Jack, a position you conferred upon me, if you remember."

"To save your sorry life."

"It doesn't matter why, Jack. It was always my destiny. I understand that. Elizabeth does too, I think. Don't you think it hurts that I can't be the one to protect her, to sail about having adventures with her? Don't you think it hurts to hear she's been in pain and in danger without me there to help?"

Hurts where? The heart that's a thousand miles away? Jack shook his head. Will had become incredibly realistic and sensible.

"Listen to me, Jack. Elizabeth had faith in you, even if I never did. So I'm asking you to help her. You're the only one I can ask. If we both survive to see each other after the ten years are up, it will be more than I'm hoping for. I just want her to be happy; far be it from me to require her to do anything." _If she has a child,_ Will was thinking,_she ought to have someone there for them both_. "Jack, I'm entrusting her to you."

"Don't you dare, mate. I absolutely refuse."

"It's your choice," Will said finally. "I just thought perhaps your many brushes with dead had made you realize there are more important things in life than freedom and gold."

"If you weren't undead, I'd kill you for that speech," Jack grumbled. Will shrugged.

"I learned from the best." Will paused and looked out on the hazy sea. "You obviously came here because you care about Elizabeth, Jack. It's not like you to admit you need help with something."

"It's not like you to talk about your lost wife like a bloody business proposition," Jack quipped. He couldn't make sense of a world where Will could be levelheaded about Elizabeth instead of brashly running off to save her himself. Life must have changed him more than Jack could guessed.

"My hands are tied," Will said quietly. "There's nothing I can do anymore. She's out of my reach."

Jack sighed and ground his foot into the floor of the deck. _Bloody hell. I knew this was a mistake, coming and trying to reason with him. _"You're going to owe me forever, mate."

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Ch. 13. **

**I know its ridiculous how long since I've updated; apologies. Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for the reviews!**

* * *

The coast of Florida was growing on the horizon, bringing a sinking feeling to Elizabeth's gut. The Fountain of Youth seemed an ominous and vain endeavor, considering she wanted to end her own life. But the crew, at least, was thrilled to the core, chatting gaily about how the discovery of the treasure would change their lives. Charles Vane sauntered over to, a brisk glimmer in his eye.

"You'd think we'd already found it," she commented dryly, indicating the crew. "Undoubtedly there will be a good many dangers to deal with first, though."

"Undoubtedly," Kit assented, still smiling. Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself; his good humor was catching. "Aren't you the littlest bit excited?"

_Not even the littlest bit_, she thought to herself. But instead she awarded him another smile and licked her lips against the burn of the sun on her mouth and face. "I'll be excited if we ever get there."

"Lizzie," Kit said, ignoring how she had chided him multiple times about calling her that, "Your eyes are so sad, it's hard to look directly into them. It's a shame that someone so beautiful, so young, should be so troubled. What can I do to help you?"

Elizabeth sighed at his overdone gallantry. "Never mind, Kit. It's complicated enough without roping you into it."

"Rope me!" he begged with a teasing grin. "Surely you know I would do anything for you."

"Would you?" The thought was oddly comforting. She was still smarting from her earlier discussion with Barbossa, who had finally thrown in the towel on rescuing her child. Impossible, he had said, to do it without it costing him his life. The child was in the hands of Birmingham; Barbossa could not risk meeting him, for all Elizabeth's tearful pleadings and promises of reward. She already owed him a fortune for saving her own life once; until she made good that promise, he wouldn't put his neck on the line for the child. "I could never ask you to do the one thing I need."

"So mysterious!" he lamented, placing his hands on her slender shoulders. He bent to kiss her cheek, wondering how to gain her trust. It was a ticklish business, but he was concerned his best-mastered skill may not work with her. It was worth a try anyway. "Elizabeth, I'm falling in love with you. Can't you see that? It would be my greatest privilege to make you happy."

Elizabeth frowned. "Kit, I would advise you to fall out of love with me as swiftly as possible. Not only am I particularly heartless when it comes to handsome pirates, I am married to a very dangerous legend of the seas. You are wasting your affections."

"Am I?" his voice grew tender, his merry blue eyes fixed on her with softness. He pulled her into a warm embrace, gently caressing her back and kissing her sun-bleached hair. Elizabeth couldn't help but relax; the feeling of his arms around brought back such sweet memories. Kit felt a wave of triumph at how her breathing deepened and her own hands went slowly around his neck. So she was no more immune to him than the rest of women. Jolly good.

* * *

"So it's back to the Caribbean, is it?" Gibbs asked hopefully.

"Bloody stupid Will," Jack was muttering, though by the look in his face, Gibbs could see he didn't really mean it. Jack turned to Gibbs. "After our friend the poor commodore died, I _was_ rooting for him. You can vouch for me. I wanted to stab the heart. But no, no… fate had to take her own bloody hand in the affair."

"Aye, Captain."

"And now what? I have to track down that miserable lying betraying heartless woman and help her against her own will?"

"It certainly sounded that way, Captain."

"And risk me own poor life when she'd just as soon sell me for a sonnet?"

Gibbs scratched his head, trying to remember what a sonnet was. "Well, er…"

"And then protect her and her child at the expense of me own freedom? Mr. Gibbs, there are two kinds of people in this world."

"Aye, Captain."

"There are the noble people and the there are the people who are manipulated by the noble people. Am I right?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Course I'm right. Because I happen to be the latter, and continually suffering for it." Though, not suffering as much as Will must be. That was certain. But Jack didn't want to think about what Will's charge had cost him. Accidentally heartless he may be, but Will was clearly having to let go of all the ideals that had once guided him. It was depressing. "Mr. Gibbs! Bring me my compass on the double. It's time to track down the _Black Pearl_."

"Begging your pardon Captain but the compass is gone." Gibbs stretched his lips into a grimace.

"I beg _your_ pardon, Mr. Gibbs, that is not the answer I was looking for. You had better go find it, hadn't you?"

"I would Captain, except I think I already know where it is. You see, that lass Marta seems to have escaped the brig and taken the longboat. I'm guessing she took the compass."

"Well that's just a stick in the eye," Jack said with a perturbed look on his face. "When are we going to realize that brigs are unsafe holding devices for determined criminals? _We_ always escape them, _they_ always escape them… it's just asking for trouble." He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "Though I suppose we can manage without that voodoo trap. I've been there once before, haven't I?"

* * *

As it happened, Marta had escaped with the compass and her young admirer days ago, and was actually coming up on the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ as Jack and Gibbs spoke. The day was fine and windy, for a clear December sky over the Caribbean meant nothing more than a slightly brisker-than-usual breeze from the North. Exultant from her unexpected escape (with help from Porter), Marta was on the verge of accomplishing what had been her goal since she was quite young, having seen Blackbeard in the shadow on the night, kissing her mother on the doorstep before vanishing, as he always did. Marta wasn't harboring any story-book notions of a happy reunion; she wanted to get a hold of his treasure maps, which had become quite legendary in Port Morgan. Isadore had remained disappointingly mum on the subject all through her childhood, but Marta had made up her mind that she didn't want to keep a dirty inn forever in order to survive.

With her stolen telescope, Marta Black could see the man known as Blackbeard (his real name, Thatch, she had heard from her mother) striding around the deck of the _Revenge_ with a powerful air. Rather than feeling frightened, as she had rather expected to feel, Marta only felt intrigued. What kind of a man was he, really, she wondered? Like Jack, or more brutal?

"Here we are. Are you happy?" John Porter's sullen voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Almost," she said, flashing a warm smile in his direction. His eyes lit up, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. He was so good; she didn't deserve him. "There's nothing left but for us to get on board, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Porter shook his head. "Marta, you're driving us into a dead wind. No matter what that Captain Sparrow said to bewitch you, piracy isn't all smooth sailing and tavern brawls. This man is a wanted criminal. He'd as soon shoot you as look at you."

A twinge in Marta's conscience seemed to whisper he may be right. But she had come too far for all that. "Flag him down. He'll let us aboard and we'll have plenty of time to explain."

Porter shook his head in frustration, but he stood up awkwardly and began waving. It wasn't long before they were seen.

* * *

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered opened and she hung for a moment in confusion; she wasn't in her cabin. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. Kit was next to her on his narrow bed in _his_ tiny cabin. What had happened?

She remembered drinking, toasting old times, old friends, old loves. She remembered the sun setting and the crew all toasting the treasure they would find. She remembered music, dancing in Kit's arms, pretending for a few moments that he was her husband. It had been easy to pretend with the rum and the dizziness as he spun her around, kissed her… made love to her? Had they…? She couldn't remember anything else.

Without warning she burst into tears. It had been a long time, too long really, since she'd had a good cry, and between her headache and her heartache, she felt she could weep for a month without stopping. She buried her face in the worn pillow to muffle her sobs, but Kit didn't stir. What was happening to her? Who was she becoming, that she could fall languishing into the arms of a man she barely knew, so overcome with drink and loneliness that she would put herself—and her marriage—at risk?

"Lizzie, nothing happened," Kit's voice slurred, still too close for comfort. "I swear. You passed out and I carried you here. I must have fallen asleep. I was just watching you."

Elizabeth's shoulders shook and she broke out afresh, with relief. "Oh God, Kit, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so frightened!" She laughed a little, trying desperately to swallow the sob caught in her throat. What must he think of her?

He put his arm around her tenderly. "It's alright, Elizabeth. It's alright."

She fell against his chest and cried again. Everything was all wrong, she was losing herself, bit by bit, becoming the part she was playing. "Kit," she finally managed to whisper, "Did you speak true that night you said… that Calypso's curse was only…?"

"I spoke true," he replied, dabbing her tears with his sleeve. "But if you don't believe me, you can hear it from her own lips…"

* * *

"I'm sorry, lass," Blackbeard said with a hearty thump to her back. His crew was in a frenzy about the ship, and he himself more than usually preoccupied. "I remember that Isadore well. But it was one of me crew what spawned you." He indicated his thick black hair with a laugh. "Hardly could have had meself a blue eyed, golden haired child, now could I? If I had to place a bet, I'd say it was Martins."

"Yes, but father or not, you owe something to my mother," Marta continued, unabashed. "A portion of the treasure, perhaps, would make up for her raising me proper, all these years?"

Blackbeard laughed again, a thick deep-chested laugh. He smelled of alcohol. "Aye! They all want in on the treasure. I'm sorry darlin', Isadore was never interested in me money, nor any other sailor's. Told me so herself."

"These are hard times, Mr. Thatch!" Marta said insistently. "At the very least, you can take me as a member of your crew. I'm hardworking and reliable."

"No, and no!" Blackbeard said firmly, irritated by the use of his surname. "Unless you're a half-crown whore, we've no use for you aboard this ship. Especially now."

Marta had noticed the growing sense of urgency and dread in the crew's preparations. "Whatever is happening?"

"Birmingham. He's been on our trail for nigh a week, but he's finally caught up to us."

Marta whistled in dismay. "Can't you fight him?"

Blackbeard gave her a sarcastic chuckle. "Aye, fight him and the rest of the Royal Navy. I love me ship but I don't delude meself about her. The _Revenge_ could hardly fight Birmingham's flagship alone on a good day. The wind isn't with us, lass. This isn't our fight."

"What will you do?" Marta asked quietly. Had she arrived at the famed pirate's ship only to see its final hour?

Blackbeard grinned, and Marta felt strong arms seize her from behind. "We bargain, my dear. What else?"

* * *

**I give my word it will be mere days, if not less, before the next chapter is up (it's mostly written). I'm sorry to inform you that someone makes a very bad decision, someone is lost without his trusty compass, and someone dies...**


	14. Chapter 14

**Ch 14. Thank you so much for the reviews:)  
**

* * *

Elizabeth stood alone at the helm of the Black Pearl, as she had so many times in her life. Dusk spread out over the ocean with wind and the first rain clouds of December. The warmth of the afternoon sun had faded on Elizabeth as she watched the colors change, hardly moving, hardly breathing. So Kit hadn't lied to her, after all. She had seen Calypso, heard from her own lips the truth of the curse. Her whole being still hummed with the thrill of seeing the goddess—so different from what she remembered, wilder, as exhilarating as a hurricane. And now, Elizabeth thought, a half measure of freedom was hers. A half measure of freedom she didn't want. A half measure of freedom she would be compelled to use.

Something in her face hardened and set, as she repeated that phrase to herself. The freedom she had, she would use. It was the only way, she thought with strange clarity. The only way to survive.

* * *

_I'm not going to survive this one_, Marta thought. The Duke of Birmingham was every bit as frightening as she had heard he was. He had a close-cropped head of red-brown hair, already graying from the hardness of life as a high-ranking official and Admiral of the Fleet. Furthermore, he had no beard, only a sharp mean jaw and slitted gray eyes that bestowed worthlessness and doom with a mere glance. Marta bit her lip and shivered as Blackbeard shoved her forward into the Duke's line of vision. Porter could not help her now, still below in the brig of the_Revenge_. His words rang in her ears; it wasn't smooth sailing, it was all becoming remarkably nightmarish, in fact. Birmingham was no pirate, but Marta was certain he would rather shoot her than look at her. 

"A fine price for me life and the sparing of me crew," Blackbeard was saying. "Me only poor child, and the prettiest lass to ever sail the seas. What do you say?"

Birmingham allowed a swift, penetrating glance over Marta. His voice was careless and bored when he said, "She's a ragged, worn out waif and hardly worth _your_ life, Edward, let alone the lives of your pitiful crew. We've had an understanding in the past, but you broke faith. I've been looking forward to killing you."

"And while I hate to deprive you of anything you fancy, Henry, you must admit now is hardly the time for a skirmish. I'll give you the girl and fifty gold pieces. You have me word, she's trained in the arts of seduction. She won't disappoint. Surely your men could use a distraction, eh? And a little padding in your pocket wouldn't hurt matters, would it?"

Birmingham smiled distantly. "You're a crooked merchant, Edward, frittering away your own daughter. But then, that's what I admire in you. Unfortunately, I'm out for blood. I'm after the Pirate King… unless you know something of her whereabouts, there will be no bargain."

"Well, well!" Blackbeard roared, slapping Birmingham on the back. "Why didn't you bloody say so! This fine lass has only just left the King's company. Sailed around with her for weeks, as I understand. Probably knows exactly where she is. So I'll just leave her with you and get on my merry way."

Birmingham turned his cold eyes back to Marta with skepticism. "Is that true?"

"I don't know where she is," Marta muttered. "But I know where she was heading."

"And where was that?"

Marta pursed her lips. She had wondered when this moment would come, this famed moment of betrayal. After her experience with Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Turner, and even that Captain Barbossa, she had learned that betrayals were a necessary part of a pirate's life. If your own life was on the line, there was nothing to be done about it, was there? Still, she felt wretched as she said, "La Aqua Vida. She'll be somewhere off the coast of Florida by now, I should think."

A very thin smile spread across Birmingham's harsh face. "Edward, we have an accord. Get your ship out of my sight or I'll be forced to reconsider."

Blackbeard bowed low with another laugh. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Henry. And do be kind to that poor wench."

Birmingham stepped closer to Marta and lifted her chin up so that he could gaze into her tired eyes. "As long as she keeps talking, we should have no problem."

* * *

"Captain!" 

"Aye?" Elizabeth asked, looking coolly at Barbossa from across the deck. A storm had formed on the horizon… strange for this time of year.

"Where be that man, Vane?"

Elizabeth turned away from his earnest glare, swirling a bottle of rum in one hand. Everything was easier with rum. Finally she responded, "Gone. Left this morning."

Barbossa reacted in a way Elizabeth imagined he would have to news of his impending death. He turned very white and finally managed to hiss, "What do you bloody mean, he left?"

Elizabeth enjoyed his fury. She took a careless swallow of rum, savoring the burn down her throat, the looseness that infected her brain. "He's on a mission for his Captain, obviously. He jumped ship at the New River Settlement."

Barbossa pursed his lips and felt for his pistol. "Perhaps you don't remember my warning to ye about that son of the devil, so let me tell ye ye've just set a very dangerous man on the loose, with news of us."

Elizabeth let out a cynical laugh. "Put your gun away, Barbossa. He'll do no harm. He's got quite a price awaiting him, if he returns with my child."

A moment of silence passed. "Do ye mean, he's got a woman waiting for him?"

Elizabeth shut her eyes. The world was indeed in shambles if Barbossa could make her feel guilty. "Aye. That's exactly what I mean."

"So… he risks his life to bring back this famed child a yorn', and to show your gratitude you—"

"Stop," Elizabeth interrupted wearily, downing another swig of rum. "It doesn't bear thinking about yet." She half expected Barbossa to shoot her then and there, for trusting Vane against whatever evils he had heard of the man. But to her complete astonishment, Barbossa put his arm around her like an old friend might, like a father might.

"I'm sorry, Captain, that it's come to this. Would've gone after the child meself, if I weren't a blackhearted pirate in fear of me own life. I won't waste me breath warning ye not to trust that Vane, because it seems ye already have. But I do wish there was another way…" How desperate she must be, to trade herself to the likes of Charles Vane… Barbossa shifted his weight and lifted her chin with his hand, looking her square in the eye. "Ye're worth more than all that, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth hung her head, her brash confidence in tatters. "Thank you," she whispered, unable to say more for the catch in her throat. She didn't want to talk about it, or think about it. He was causing her to doubt herself, when she had already made her choice for the sake of her child— and the child of the man she loved...

* * *

Jack was lost without his trusty compass. Horribly, undeniably lost. Still, he smiled as he leaned over the rail that morning, glad to have a back-up plan. In a flash of genius, that may have had something to do with Gibbs' hints, Jack had remembered Isadore Black. Even now he saw Port Morgan in the distance, fogged against a gray sky… like the night that the Pirate King had arrived there, weeks ago. And he had sat with Elizabeth in the tavern and laughed as if he hadn't a care in the world. How much life could change in a few weeks. Had she found the Fountain yet, he wondered, or was she still searching, still in the company of Vane… perhaps wishing _he_ were there? 

"How will I explain to her why I pretended to be dead?" he muttered aloud to no one. And then he smiled again. "Hang it all. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. I don't have to explain anything to anyone."

"Captain!" Gibbs mopped his brow with a handkerchief and looked at the gathering clouds with dismay. "Boat's ready for you, if you plan on going ashore in all this."

"That I do, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, smiling into the flash of lightning that scorched the horizon. "And you're coming with me."

* * *

A day in the brig, a day alone with her thoughts, was quite enough to ease Marta's tongue. She had told Birmingham everything she knew about the Pirate King and her companions—twice over, in fact. Histories, destinations, crimes committed, weaknesses. Everything she knew. And she was exhausted. 

No one had touched her, nor did they seem to have any intention of doing so. The crew ignored her with such serious persistence she began to feel she didn't exist. Squatting in the brig in a few inches of icy water, Marta shivered and wrapped her worn shawl closer around her shoulders. Rats skittered in and out of the shadows and she almost wished they would take her back on deck for more questioning. Were they going to kill her, or turn her over for a profit at the next port? The latter seemed unlikely, and yet, for a man as cruel as Birmingham was reputed to be, the former seemed a bit too easy.

She missed Porter. It was strange to admit how attached she'd grown to him. How much she depended on him. He wasn't a legendary pirate by any stretch of the imagination, but he had stood by her since she left home. She wondered idly where he was, whether he was still on the _Revenge_ or whether he too had been bargained away. Likely he'd escaped and was even now on his way to rescue her…

The clanging of metal startled her back to reality and she looked up to see the weathered old quartermaster swinging her cage-door open. "You're to come with me, miss. Admiral's got a guest what requested a woman."

_Bloody hell,_ Marta thought in a panic. _Now what to do?_ She stood and smoothed her limp skirts. "Of course," she heard herself say calmly. "Though I'm a bit out of practice. Perhaps I could try a trick or two on you?" And she gave the quartermaster her most sensuous smile.

The man glanced back at the stairs, evidently worried about an intrusion. "I'd lose me post, miss…"

"It would only take a moment," Marta said, inching closer, licking her lips. "Surely you could spare one moment for a poor lass without a friend in the world… in need of a strong man to help her…"

He gave in. She could see the lust in his eyes, an old animal hunger fueled by months on the sea under a brutal and eccentric Admiral… months missing England, his family, his wife. Marta placed her little white hands around his neck as though to kiss him, but as he closed his eyes, she jerked his head back against a wooden beam and he went out like a light. She dropped his unconscious body onto the ground and leaped towards the stairs, knowing it wouldn't take long for the Admiral to learn what had happened. The ship ran like clockwork; nothing was left to chance.

Unfamiliar with her surroundings and dizzy with exhaustion, Marta ducked through doorways and up odd stairs, unable to reach the deck. She heard a woman's voice behind her and flung herself behind a curtain just as the woman and Birmingham himself sauntered into the hallway. Marta almost choked at what she saw: the woman, an elderly motherly type, was carrying a child of not quite a year. The baby had huge, laughing black eyes and dark curling hair. What on earth was a child doing on a ship like this, Marta wondered? She pressed herself against the wall and listened as their conversation continued.

"'Te boy's not yet old 'nough to be weaned," the woman was saying in a thick cockney accent. "'Nother few months at the least, Admiral."

"Listen here, woman," Birmingham said firmly, "This child belongs to me and I'll make the decisions concerning it. You were hired for your milk, not your wisdom as a mother."

The woman's face puckered and she clutched the infant tighter. "Ye've no right to trade him away for yer own gains, sir!"

Marta heard Birmingham slap the woman across the face, hard. Instinctively she flinched. "Shut your mouth or I'll have you thrown overboard. This Charles Vane's a man to be reckoned with, and it's he who named the price. This child is criminal royalty, and worth a fortune."

"Aye," came the woman's cowed voice. "As you say, sir."

They marched on. Marta slid out from behind the curtain and followed. The child of the Pirate King, perhaps? It must be so. A child that had Jack's eyes.

Ahead of her, Birmingham and the woman entered what must be his office. At the barest glimpse of Charles Vane, Marta shuddered. Betrayal upon betrayal—how would you ever know whom to trust in this world? The door slammed and she crouched against it, hoping their voices would carry. An instinct told her to make her escape and leave incriminating knowledge to professionals, but she stayed put. Information was a valuable resource, especially for someone with not a penny (or a friend) to her name. She couldn't afford to throw it away.

"It'll be easy once we're on land," Vane was saying in his warm, friendly voice. Vane was such a charming man, Marta wasn't surprised they had all been taken in. "Their ship may be a fighter but on land they'll know what's what and surrender. I'm sure of it."

"And so you return the child to her, allay any suspicions, and signal us at once."

"It might be easier if I cut their throats in their sleep," Vane commented wryly. "Then we could take the map and get on with things."

"Don't you know anything about this Fountain?" Birmingham shot back, amused. "We'll need her alive—we'll need her title."

"I've not the pleasure of understanding you," Vane said. "Why _her_?"

"I beg yer pardon, sir," the woman interrupted in a soft voice, "but the legend goes that only the king of the thieves or a lord of the pirates may remove water from the Fountain and live. Surely ye've heard the tales…"

"King of the Thieves or Lord of the Pirates," Vane muttered, pondering the words. "And she is king of both, it seems."

"So you must keep her alive, at the least, and bring her along. Once we achieve our… goal… you may do with her as you wish. Do we have an accord?"

Vane shook his hand warmly. "That we do!" Marta heard the clinking of crystal. "To Immortality!"

Leaning closer, Marta suddenly hit the door and it swung wide open. She tumbled onto the floor in front of the surprised three.

"Why, Marta lass!" Vane said with chilling good breeding. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"Spying on us, no doubt," Birmingham replied with an equally chilling smile. "It's the girl you requested, Charles."

"Fancy that." Kit gallantly bent over and helped Marta to her feet. She contemplated bolting, but on a ship she didn't know, it was unlikely she'd get far.

"And did you have anything to add to our discussion?" Birmingham questioned with mockery. Marta would have responded, but she was looking at the child, asleep in the woman's arms. She yearned for one herself… for a quiet life with a good man who loved her.

"I'm in love," she murmured. "Oh, John, why didn't I listen to you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Birmingham had a gun out now, idly pointing at her. "Tie her up, Vane. She's a habit of betrayal. I wouldn't want to risk her escaping to warn the Pirate King."

Kit flashed her an apologetic smile and began tying her up, the ropes brutally tight around Marta's wrists and ankles. He winked at her. "Shall I toss her overboard, as well, Admiral?"

"Not until we've weighted her down," Birmingham laughed. "A cannonball should do the trick. Bring her up on deck. The men would enjoy a good execution."

* * *

Jack sat across from Gibbs in a smoky corner of Black's Tavern, swirling ale in a mug, lost in his thoughts. The atmosphere of the island seemed different since his last visit—quieter, almost fearful. Isadore had barely given him a glance before fleeing the room, but Jack saw her peering out at him from the kitchen door. Afraid to hear news, hiding from whatever Jack's presence indicated. Presently she approached them.

"Isadore Black," Jack said with a nod.

"Jack Sparrow," Isadore remarked icily. Her face was worn and her eyes were ringed by dark circles. "I assumed you'd be back. So tell me now, do you have news of my daughter?"

Jack frowned. "Well, yes and no. She stole me compass and me dinghy and made off with her admirer a few days ago. Something about finding Blackbeard."

"Mother of god," Isadore said grimly. "Hardly the news I was hoping for."

"That's not why I'm here, though. You see, since your daughter made off with that compass of unique talents, I find meself in quite a predicament—trying to fulfill an old friend's last request, which I can't do without the compass, which would have been with me if that Marta hadn't taken it. Seeing as the circumstances are clearly your fault, I thought it only right that you help me."

Isadore narrowed her eyes in disgust. "Sparrow, this has nothing to do with me. You've always been a poor hand at keeping objects of value." Jack glowered into his mug. "You're a scoundrel. You've got no loyalties. You use everyone to gain your own ends, and then what? Disappear into your precious horizon without a care in the world."

"Are ye talkin' about me, or that Blackbeard?" Jack asked tritely. He sighed. "I am what I am, Isadore. I'm only trying to do right… trying to do something good. Trying to save someone I love."

"Love? What would you know about it, Sparrow?"

She looked at his shadowed face, the flicker of pain in his dark eyes at the word "love". He lifted his mug, changed his mind, and set it back down.

"I know it hurts like hell. I know it's complicated… aye, so complicated it doesn't seem worth it. I know love's a cursed bother but it won't go away, won't leave off. It consumes ye, until ye think you'll go mad." He leaned back in the booth, boldly meeting Isadore's harsh gaze. "A sorry twist of fate I find meself in, but it's only love what possesses a man to give up his freedom and maybe his life, just for one more chance to look at her, hold her…" He looked away, chuckling to himself, and said softly, "Aye, its love. Must be love, for I've never felt its equal in me whole life…"

Isadore uttered a short laugh. "Well, I'll be, Sparrow. You have me. You're a damn fool, far worse than I ever imagined you to be. But I pity you, and so I'll help you." She folded her hands on the worn wood of the table and leaned in. "What is it you need?"

Jack smiled that dangerously glinting smile he was so famous for, and matched her tone. "I need to speak with a goddess."

* * *

Marta stood by the rail, gazing into the glassy blue-green waves. How soft, how gentle the water looked under the evening sun… the sweet smell of salt-water, and the cry of the gulls sounded familiar, comforting even. Heavy against her ankles was the thick metal chain, and latched to that, a cannonball. Her bones felt fragile against the unforgiving metal. Someone, the man with the evil eyes, picked her up and a loud cheer went up around her, but she was in a daze, hardly aware of their cruelty, their appetites for death. Everything seemed slow and faint, far away. For the briefest moment she was in the air, caught up in the colors of a golden sunset, the breeze lifting her towards the sky. _Goodbye, John Porter. I'm so sorry I never told you that I love you…_ And then came the plunge into icy water, an indifferent presence that surrounded and embraced her. Heavy, heavy, was the weight against her ankles, dragging her down away from the evening light. Ears, eyes, lungs burned. The pressure of the water seemed to crush her, and blackness invaded her mind. For the briefest moment, she imagined she saw a ship gliding through the murky depths towards her. And then, nothing.

* * *

** More to come soon... **


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15.**

Thank you all so much for the reviews and encouragement. :)

* * *

The Flying Dutchman surged through the morbid gray water, Will at the helm, the pressure of the ocean rushing against him, soothing him. He was at the mercy of the dying, the mercy of a cruel ocean. Mercy. He turned the word over on his tongue, feeling it void of any meaning for him. No monster was he, and yet he had lost himself. Didn't recall what it felt like to live, to breath, to laugh. Didn't remember the warmth of the sun or the joy of love. Couldn't imagine Elizabeth's face anymore. Didn't try.

There, ahead. A girl drifting downward in the water, pulled by a heavy weight on one bare foot, a billow of yellow fabric around her, a stream of golden hair breaking the monotony of the depths. Will blinked. Not a mermaid, but a maid. Close to death, or dead already? The Dutchman was seldom too late… but sometimes, sometimes it was.

Will's thoughts were clean, calm and direct. The Dutchman surfaced all at once, the girl on the deck as water streamed from every crevice back downwards, and the crew found themselves squinting into an afternoon haze. They gathered around the body, and Will knelt to smooth her hair away from her beautiful white face, his fingers brushing her neck.

No pulse. No breathing. Dead. She was one of the few who remained beautiful in death, marbled as a statue, not yet cold. Will was fascinated by her, wondering what dark destiny had landed her thus on the ship of the dead, young and fair as she seemed. And he might hear her story, if he liked. He would hear it. He closed his eyes and the ship was instantly underwater, at the border of the worlds, breaking the surface on the other side. Night here. Lanterns were lit on the wet deck, the sudden silence of the endless emptiness around them startling.

The girl was awake, awake in that final knowledge before being given up to the land of the dead, where Will would take her. But first, first he would listen to her story. The stories of the dead ought to be heard, remembered, Will thought. He stood before her.

"William Turner?" she asked him. "Captain of the Flying Dutchman?"

Will blinked, studying her face, so different, so poignant without the pallor of earthly death. "You know my name?"

"Yes… I know your wife."

"Elizabeth." Will shut his eyes, but he couldn't picture her face. Nothing stirred inside him, as he knew it ought.

"I am dead, then?"

Will looked back to the girl, but she seemed neither frightened nor surprised. "Yes, you are. And I am ferrying you to the... the end." To his astonishment, the girl curtsied.

"My thanks, but I'd rather not. Not until I've told you what I know, that is."

"What do you know?" Will asked, once again fascinated by the steadiness in her voice, the calm surety in her wide blue eyes.

She neared him until her lips were just inches from his face, until the crew could not possibly hear what she said in a low voice: "I have knowledge that can save your wife from certain death."

* * *

It was midnight, and Elizabeth walked alone on the beach under the tropical purple sky, deeply embroidered with stars that flickered and mocked her from their glorious safety above. The Pearl sat anchored a bit further out, hugging Florida's eastern coast as they moved northward toward St. Augustine.

A sharp wind, almost cold, hit against her back as she dipped her bare feet in the water. A few moments of solitude and escape were afforded her by Barbossa, perhaps hoping she would take the hint and vanish out of Charles Vane's reach before he returned. An ill-bent hope; she would walk the beach and shiver, and return with the dawn.

She paused and knelt in the choppy surf, lifting a smooth white shell and studying it. Something moved out in the water, perhaps a dolphin, or something less friendly. She cast the shell out into the waves, brushed the sand from her hands, tried to keep her unruly hair out of her face as she studied the water. Whatever it was, it was coming closer.

It was a man. Suddenly the waves calmed and the figure stood—slender and shadowed, familiar, achingly familiar…

_I'm dreaming,_ Elizabeth thought with relief. _I'm dreaming of him again._ If it was merely a dream, she had nothing to lose, nothing to fear.

She plunged into the water, flinging her coat off to run the better towards him. He would open his arms to her as he had in so many other dreams, hold her, kiss her, forgive her. The water was so cold, so painfully cold… the sand under her feet abrasive and loose. She fell and went under, steadied herself, went on towards him. They were close now—she could see his eyes mirrored in the water, almost see the half-smile on his mouth, the trailing scars leading down his chest. A beautiful dream, a beautiful soul. Oh, he looked so real Elizabeth had to stop and just look at him, take him in.

"Jack," she whispered into the wind, smiling, weeping, waiting to wake up. "Jack Sparrow, just out of the sea…"

He was mere feet from her now, so close she could touch him if she dared. "Elizabeth," he said softly; scorn, longing, fury, compassion were all wrapped up in her name. Elizabeth froze and gave an involuntary shudder. It was too real. It was too torturous; a dream on the verge of becoming a nightmare, or a waking truth. She couldn't move.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think ye were a dream," he said, studying her face, moving closer. "But Barbossa did tell me I would find you here."

Elizabeth shook her head. She wanted to wake up. "Stop it, Jack, stop it. Haven't you tortured me enough?"

"Tortured you?" he laughed bleakly. "It's been the other way 'round, to my reckoning." A faint grin showed on his face. "I couldn't bring me gun into the water, or we'd be havin' a different kind of conversation now." Seeing her stricken face, he amended, "I didn't mean it, Lizzie. I'm not the kind for revenge, not anymore."

She couldn't look at him, so real, every detail as she remembered. "You've had it ten-fold, if you ever wanted it."

He looked at her curiously, coming closer so that they _were_ touching, his hand on her face, so impossibly rough and delicious she couldn't bear it. "You look broken down and a thousand years old, darlin'. I think it's time we found that fountain."

"Stop haunting me," she begged through clenched teeth. "Stop it, stop it! I'd sell my soul to make things right, to bring you back again. Can't you see that?"

Jack tipped her chin and brushed his nose against hers; she could feel the hot air from his mouth, see the scattered flecks of kohl that had washed away in the water. "I'm afraid I'm not haunting you this time, love. You've no need to bring me back, for I never was dead, not at all. Though I appreciate your sentiment…"

She jerked away, wading through the water towards the shore, cursing the dream, the sky, the ocean. Cursing the sound her heart was making under her drenched shirt. And he was following, his ghost wasn't going to give her a moment of peace ever again.

He had caught up to her easily, pulled her around into his arms with such strength, such decisive strength, and he was laughing. "Darlin', if it's a dream, ye've no reason to run."

Elizabeth relaxed a little, unable to fight the rising heat of her blood as he held her. His body was slender and yet, so very strong… the body of a pirate, a sailor, chiseled by the years. Unconsciously she pressed against him, stumbling in the damp pooling sand around their feet, aware of their breathing, their hearts beating. "It's a cruel dream," she murmured against his neck, "when all I want is to forget you."

"Ye've done that before, but I wasn't about to let it happen again." He cupped her face, his rings cold against her skin. "Pirate King and Pirate Lord… hard to resist, isn't it?" And before she could reply he took her mouth with his own, heavy and unyielding, kissing her so strongly it almost hurt. She opened her mouth at once and dug her fingers into his skin, drowning in his taste, his scent, his words._Beautiful dream,_ she thought, _I'll sleep the rest of my life if only to try to find this one again_…

All at once he pulled himself away, a dark shadow passing over his face. Elizabeth saw something out of the corner of her eye, and without thinking she looked. There out beside the _Pearl_ was the _Norfolk_, anchored and waiting, plain as plain.

"What is that?" she choked, still refusing to understand.

"Why, that's my ship, darlin'," he said with a half-mocking smile, a smile that unsettled her from the top of her head right to her toes. "The ship I commandeered after the Tortuga incident. The ship I sailed to meet your husband in, and the ship that Calypso only recently brought to this very shore. A fine vessel, is she not?"

"Your ship," Elizabeth repeated. "The ship you commandeered…" The whirring of the cicadas in the trees, the noise of the wind, the crash of the waves… all these were faint to the roaring in her ears. "You were dead! Shot—I saw the blood, I wept on the deck of that very ship…"

"As I stood by and listened," Jack said, his grin glinting gold.

A wild look of pain hit her face, almost as though he had stabbed her. "You were alive… and you made me believe you were dead?"

"Ye're the one who sent me to that doom, love. Remember that? So I escaped, and didn't want to put meself back in harm's way again."

"I never meant for…" she tried to say, shaking with emotion. She didn't know whether to throw herself back into his arms or run away from him and never look back. "Jack, how could you…?"

"I do that sort of thing quite a lot," he said with a shrug. "And you _did_ enjoy the dream, while you still thought it a dream, eh?"

At a total loss for words, Elizabeth shook her head and stumbled towards her little boat. There would be no waking up from this… Jack was alive— alive and once again her enemy. It was too much to take in, too much to hope for and yet too much to bear. Cheerfully, Jack was shoving the boat into the water.

"I don't fancy another swim, love. I'll just come along and you can drop me off at my ship, savvy?"

* * *

Marta sat in the Captain's cabin of the Flying Dutchman, dry at last. The cabin was sparse and empty, much like the face of its Captain, who paced the narrow room steadily as Marta told him all she knew of Elizabeth's journey to the Fountain of Youth, Charles Vane's betrayal, the coming of Birmingham and their plot regarding the pirates.

"If only Jack finds her first, things may turn out all right," Will muttered at last.

"Hardly possible," Marta said. "For Birmingham and Vane have got his compass. They'll know precisely where to go, while Jack will have to seek her out on the trail, if indeed he remembers it from last time."

"The compass," Will returned, falling back into pondering. "And there'll be no one to warn them, for you are the only one who knows…"

"Can you not warn her yourself?" Marta asked softly. Will shook his head.

"I am bound to my post. I would not be summoned to them until it was too late…"

Marta took a breath, and stood to face him. "Let me go." He didn't react. "Will, let me go to them and warn them if I can. Surely you can spare me, make an exception this once…"

"You are asking much, lady," he finally said, though doubt was plain in his eyes. Marta found herself drawn to him irresistibly, drawn to the paper-blank honesty, the firm inhuman coldness with which he was hearing and plotting. Here was a living legend, a man truly cursed, truly hinged to a doom which none could imagine. He was neither happy nor unhappy, neither old nor young, neither hopeful nor fearful. It was uncanny, and fascinating.

Marta gazed around the cabin, thinking ironically how much it needed a woman's touch. "I deserved death, William Turner," she said quietly. "It was the fair hand of fate, the consequences of my own actions. I do not ask this for me… but for you, for the lives of those I have chosen to be counted among." She impulsively reached to smooth her hand along his face, along the fathomless sea-blue eyes, but before she knew it he had leaned forward and kissed her, briefly and delicately on the mouth.

His back was to her at once, as though shocked at what he had done. "Nothing…" he murmured. "I feel nothing… neither guilt nor pleasure." Just as he felt no jealousy when he thought of Jack finding Elizabeth, protecting her, perhaps taking her for himself as his woman.

"She loved you enough to marry you, and she loves you still, Will," Marta's voice came, reassuring and unexpected. "It's only fate that has divided you."

"A fate I cannot fight," Will replied. "True love, if only for a moment, has been enough for me. It seems I only have to endure eternity knowing we are parted, and I have given her up."

Perplexed, she moved slowly to face him once again, and stood up on her toes to meet his lips again, soft and fearful at first, and then with deep passion. "You feel nothing?" she whispered when she had stopped, in pity and surprise.

He smiled weakly. "You're a very strange girl, Marta. I'm only sorry I can't enjoy what you've just given me."

Marta licked her lips, the taste of ocean salt thick upon them. A tiny window cast the only light in the room across Will's face and the jagged, creeping scar across his chest. She smiled suddenly, and then broke forth and laughed. "I can give you something else, Will. I can give you peace."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Let me go to warn Elizabeth and the pirates. And then, I will take your place as Captain of the Dutchman."

"You… you would take my place?"

"I would."

* * *

Reviews are much appreciated! More to come soon... 


	16. Chapter 16

**Ch. 16**

Why is this chapter up so fast? Because I'm nice. No... haha... actually, I have midterms this coming week, thereby ensuring many superfluous things get done in the name of study procrastination.

I was informed by a dear reader that I had my anonymous review thingy disabled. I have remedied the situation. Anonymous readers, you are encouraged to review:) Thank you much to all the reviews, as always.

Spoiler: I am in fact (and this may come as a shock) a diehard sparrabether. i won't keep you waiting much longer.

* * *

Jack hated the _Norfolk_. Its deck was too narrow, its helm clumsy and restricting. The cabins all looked the same—modern, efficient, well-kept. The ship had no character, no magic, no history. Only a ship. And a bloody average one, at that.

Elizabeth was on the Pearl, probably asleep, probably hating him. What a mess he had made! Damn his witty escaping ways. She had just become so… haunted. So broken. So impossibly wild. And all because of him, because he had wanted to forget her. Yet for all her wide-eyed tremblings, he told himself, she was still a pirate: vengeful, calculating, and dangerous.

He had kissed her. Well, why not? He was bloody in love with her, wasn't he? Though she had killed him once and nearly killed him any number of times, he found himself dwelling instead on the delicate lines of her face, the shadows beneath her eyes, remembering the scars across her beautiful skin, thinking of all she had been through. A work of art she was, a patchwork of experience, of life. And all he did was torture her. Yes, that's what she had said. Bother. Damn. He had meant to forgive her, make things right. He had meant to tell her everything about seeing Will, about wanting to protect her. Damn pride.

_You know,_ he thought to himself, _this is really Barbossa's fault. I learned too well how to play things close to the vest_. Or maybe he still didn't trust her. It was the shock of seeing her again, like a bloody vision in the silver moonlight, walking the sand… a siren, luring him to another death.

He chuckled to himself. He sounded like a schoolboy or a romantic sailor, a clear indication it was time for a drink.

He opened his cabin door abruptly, and there she stood. Elizabeth, in a nightgown, her hair loose, white as a ghost.

"I thought we agreed not to haunt one another," Jack said, amazed at his own calm cleverness. Why must he be so defensive? Because he was afraid of her. Afraid of hurting her, or being hurt by her, or… or… he wasn't quite sure.

Elizabeth stood twisting her hands together, unable to meet his eyes. Her presence, he thought, was somewhere between soothing and terrifying, exciting and awe-inspiring, unpredictable and impossible to escape from. Sort of like the driving gale of a storm.

She wasn't talking. She wouldn't even look at him. Carrying off his wit further, he swung the door open and gestured inside. "Please, do come in." What was she doing? Here for a late night murder, or had she simply gone insane? She went in, and he shut the door and sat down on the bed.

"I've never seen you so nervous," Jack finally commented, clasping his hands around his knees and studying her relentlessly. "Is this about the thing we've agreed never to talk about again?" _Why did you bloody say that? Of all the things not to talk about…_

"Perhaps," Elizabeth muttered, and then blushed deeply. "And perhaps not. It's hard to say considering we've apparently agreed never to talk about it."

_Oh God in heaven, it was. That was exactly what it was about._ Jack raised his eyebrows. "I'm _not_ talking about it, darlin'. I just wondered if ye were. Since it is the middle of the night and ye're in your nightgown, I'm going to assume I've guessed correctly."

"What would I have to say to you about… _that_?" She tried to mask her face in indifference. "You are overly confident. It makes me think you've been sitting here waiting for me."

Oh yes, that was why he was defensive. She was bloody mean. "Ah, I have been. But to talk about quite different things, as it were. If ye are here for the reason I think ye are, it's only fair I tell ye I am not interested in Will's cast offs. A man has to have some pride, darlin'."

"Damn your pride!" Elizabeth cried in a strained voice, surprising him greatly. "Damn it to hell, Jack Sparrow, because it's the only thing keeping us from doing what we both want to do right now."

"Do we both?" Jack questioned, still perfectly composed. What was she playing at, anyway? "You confess you _are_ here for that reason, then?"

Elizabeth shut her eyes, unable to bear his triumphant grin. "Yes, for god's sake, stop rubbing it in my face, Jack. I am here with my hair down and in my nightgown and it's after midnight. I am obviously and solely here for _that_ reason, and if I weren't so ashamed and afraid of you, I wouldn't have bothered saying anything before I…"

"Before you what?"

"Before I kissed you!"

He caught his breath. "Are you… afraid of me, then?"

"Terrified," she whispered, as he stood and moved closer. He wasn't mocking her anymore.

"You ought to kiss me," he breathed, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I deserve some punishment, after all I've put you through."

"You certainly deserve more than a kiss," she said softly, as he ran his hands along her face, down her arms, with torturous restraint. "And I've come to make things right… if you'll allow me."

It wasn't possible. Or, not probable. Either way, he found himself nearly dizzy with surprise. She was before him in her nightgown, offering everything he'd been dreaming about for months (months to the extent of years, that was). It was his turn to think he must be dreaming. "I thought ye… I thought ye would hate me by now."

"I do," she said, her brown eyes half-lidded and irresistibly mysterious. She must have learned that trick from him—that trick of giving everything away with her eyes, and yet giving away nothing. "I hate you for leaving me and lying to me and… voting me king and making me a pirate… and I hate you for having my maidenhead and then telling me I should marry another…"

"I've been a scoundrel," he assented, "But don't go blaming ye're choices on me…"

"I'll do as I please!" she cried hotly, pushing him back against the wall with strength he hadn't counted on. She bent her mouth against his face and said, "Savvy?"

He was lost. He was doomed. He was in love. There was no way to resist her, no reason to try. "Oh love," he murmured as she moved her hands down along his body, thrust against him in almost victorious fervor, "if ye're going to kill me, please just do it…"

"I am not going to kill you, Sparrow," she said. He had thought she was broken; he had been mistaken. She was the same untamable wench, saucy and arousing and ridiculously superior to him in the ways of piracy. "I'm going to have what I want from you, do you understand?"

He closed his eyes, seething with pleasure, finally letting his hands grasp her hips and his lips search her face. "Perfectly. Ye're King, after all."

"Yes," she returned, almost laughing. "I'm King."

"And every time I die, it seems ye welcome me back by bedding me…"

"Jack," she said breathlessly, suddenly serious, "I've missed this! Missed you… missed your lips…since…" She blushed.

"It was only the once, as I remember," he chuckled, dragging her toward the bed. "If ye don't count dreams, that is…"

She began unbuttoning his shirt with tantalizing care, pausing to kiss his throat. "I still don't know anything about this…" she murmured. "I need you to teach me."

"Unlikely I could make ye any better than ye already are," he breathed, his hands twined through the tangled depths of her hair. "Ye're everything… everything…" He kissed her deeply, fiercely, worshipfully. Slowly their hands met and held, fingers laced tightly, bodies aligned and throbbing with heat, minds lost to the triumph of desire met.

"Why do we fight and deceive each other, Jack?" she asked softly, against his neck and the coarse line of his jaw.

"We're pirates," Jack returned with a sad kind of smile. He looked into her dark eyes, the eyes of the woman he had spent so long wanting, running from. "We don't really know how to be happy…"

"Don't know how, or perhaps don't deserve it," Elizabeth sighed. Jack shook his head firmly, tightening his grip.

"That's not true— Lizzie darlin', ye deserve to be happy, ye deserve better than all I could give ye, don't ever think that ye don't." He held her gaze with his wicked black eyes, which were full of nothing but raw and unhidden adoration, and he laughed a little and looked away. "I don't even know how to tell ye this—how to say…" What he meant to say… that he loved her, that he wanted to stay with her, protect her, fight for her, die with her. "Really, if I ever was a good man, it was only because of ye."

She buried her face against his chest, feeling his living heartbeat, feeling him both a friend she could trust and a man she could belong to just now. "You've got a heart of gold, Jack, even if you do plague me sometimes. Let's stand together now, we're stronger together…"

"Aye," Jack said, feeling deliciously lost, out of control, without plan or purpose, just giving himself up to her. Aye, hoist the colors, pray the wind with them, deserving or not he had her here, now, in his arms. A risk he would take again, a destiny he would reverse, if only for the night. "Aye love, Lizzie love," he whispered, tracing her neck, her shoulders, his hands like a sculptor across her body, tugging her nightdress down her shoulders, "I've missed you too… if a man's caught by the sea, one night seems a cruel taste when it's a lifetime he wants…"

She smiled into his face, so unfeasibly, ridiculously happy, unable to think about anything else or worry about anything else, forgetting it all in the beautiful roughness of his skin, the domineering vigor of his slender brown hands, the rushing mischief in his eyes. _"One day, you won't be able to resist."_ So he would be her secret, the whisper between her heart and the sea, the way she spent the freedom allowed her. Suddenly and uncomfortably she thought of Kit—the promise she had made him in the midst of despair, loneliness, and indecision.

"What's wrong, love?" Jack asked, smoothing the tension that formed on her face.

"Nothing," she said quickly, for nothing must ruin this moment, nothing must come between them now! He was back from the dead again, and back in her arms. She smiled her most carefree smile, and pulled him down on the bed. "Everything's just right, Jack… just right…"

"Aye," he murmured happily, allowing her to undress him, remembering the way her naked body fit just against his, remembering and reliving it all over again. There was no certain doom waiting for them tomorrow, he thought. This time they had a measure of freedom that seemed to unlock every instance of yearning they had felt over the past months. She was so beautiful, so indiscreetly enthralling, from the freckles on her shoulders to the peeling pink skin on her nose, burned by the sun. He kissed her nose and her shoulders, pulling the nightgown yet further down, until he could see once again the deep ridged scars along her middle. "Now we match," he whispered into her hair, drawing her close until their scars touched.

She smiled again, a heart-rending smile, not a trace of defensiveness left. She parted her lips and leaned in again, her breath coming quickly, rapt with desire, when suddenly a loud knock struck the door.

Again. Louder. "Jack!" It was Gibbs. "Jack! Come up on deck—hurry!"

Bloody hell. "What's happened?" Jack called, disentangling himself.

"That lass Marta… she's back!"

* * *

More to come soon... 


	17. Chapter 17

**Ch. 17 **

**Thank you all so, so much for the reviews! **

* * *

_I'm going to kill Marta_, thought Jack and Elizabeth in precise and determined unison. She looked at Jack, half naked beside her. "Do you want to say it, or shall I?" 

"I'm going to kill that bloody wench," Jack muttered. "Mr. Gibbs! I elect you Captain for the day. Carry on."

"Jack, it's not like that—we've got a problem."

"I'm sure it's nothing you can't deal with. I have absolute faith in your ability to handle foolish lasses _and_ their problems."

"Jack, she arrived aboard the Flying Dutchman."

Elizabeth went cold. She looked at Jack, her face awash with what he could only describe as fear. Was she afraid of Will, afraid he could see through walls, or belatedly conscience stricken? Impossible to tell through her stony face. She tossed him his shirt and adjusted her nightgown and then went for the door, stumbling and indeed nearly falling, trying desperately to make herself think clearly. Jack suddenly materialized behind her and pulled her into his embrace. He bent his head into the curve of her neck and kissed her skin, her hair. "Don't be afraid," he whispered firmly. "Whatever happens, we'll be facin' it together."

Feeling his possessive grip about her waist, Elizabeth relaxed, laughing. "What has gotten into you, Captain Sparrow? If you don't watch yourself, you'll be acting the good man _all_ the time… "

"If I didn't think someone or other of our lives were on the line here, I'd lock that door and have me way with ye, Dutchman or no," Jack growled. "So don't put too much stock in the good man."

"If I remember correctly," Elizabeth said, turning to face him, "It was _me_ having my way with _you_."

"Ye can remember it however ye want," he said with an impious grin. "Just so long as ye promise me we'll continue…"

"As soon as we can," she returned, breathless. They were always being interrupted, it seemed. Reaching land at the precise wrong moment, or meeting the deadly kraken, or being surprised by her husband… she stifled another laugh.

"What's so funny, darlin'?"

"Just try not to be killed before making it back to my bed, Sparrow."

"I'll be extra careful, love," he said seriously. "Ye're the one I must watch me back with, it seems."

"Jack, I—" she was unprepared for the look in his eyes—the utter and uncharacteristic vulnerability, almost a willingness to die by her hand again. On the verge of tears, which she had no intention of loosing, she took his dark face in her hands. "Jack, you must understand… I could never willingly, never intentionally… not anymore. Without you, my life isn't…" she stopped, unable to go on. He was still looking at her, that same look in his eyes just before she kissed him for the first time. He understood. And she felt a rush of relief that she didn't have to explain anything, because he knew. She threw her arms around him as tightly as she could manage and said faintly, "Do you remember on the Pearl, at the world's end, when you told me to tell you when I need protecting?"

"Aye," he murmured into her hair, the scent of her so distinct, so familiar and yet it made the hair on his neck stand up, made him shiver inside because she still seemed so forbidden, so beyond his grasp. Oh, how he remembered that night, frightening her a little, kissing her, holding her, knowing in his heart that moment that he forgave her fully, completely. And knowing also that his torment in the locker had not cooled the fire he felt for her… if anything, his suffering had caused him to understand with clarity what he wanted. For nothing worth having came easy; the beautiful things, the important things must be fought for.

"I need it now, Jack, I need you now…" She broke off and smiled wryly. "I'm not a very good pirate, really." Jack slid his hands down to her middle, instinctively covering her scars, feeling them burn against him with the accusation that he should have been there, then and always, protecting her. And he had nearly given up! Nearly walked away again. It was unfathomable. He should have known he wouldn't get far.

"Sometimes I need protectin' too, darlin'," he said softly, feeling how sweet, how unutterably sweet it was to give in to her, to stop fighting her. "Ye make me afraid and yet, it's naught but exhilarating…"

"I'll make it up to you, Jack. Everything I've done. I swear it."

"Ye already have, love," he said, kissing her like a warm sunrise. A feeling of peace spread across her body, both thrilling and disconcerting. She had glimpsed this feeling before, lusted after it, but it was so strong, so overpowering… much more than she had imagined, much more than she could control. The desire she felt for him always had been a blaze of battling guns, an inferno and a torment. This was softer, fuller, a late morning under a shady grove, a steady tide, an acceptance and a surrender.

Jack opened the door. Elizabeth walked past him and hurried toward the deck, knowing she would fall back into his arms if she didn't get away. He was close behind her.

"Jack!" Gibbs whirled around as they emerged, and then took in Elizabeth in her nightgown. "And Elizabeth…" He paused for a moment, and then, "Thank god you're here too. Perfect timing, really."

"Gibbs," she said, shaking his hand with energy. The man deserved a medal for all the secrets he kept, and all the times he didn't ask questions.

"Jack Sparrow?" Marta's voice interrupted and she suddenly was beside them.

She was changed. There was something different in her face, a darkening hue, as it were, a flicker of wisdom or suffering in the blue of her eyes.

"Where is the_Dutchman_?" Jack asked at once.

"Gone," Marta said softly. "Called away. He told me of your meeting him, Jack."

"What?" Elizabeth looked at Jack with a sickening feeling in her chest, remembering rapidly the words Jack had said, _"the ship I sailed to meet your husband in…" _"You've… seen Will?"

Jack bit his lip and put on a comical expression. "Ye know, darlin', I've told ye that before and ye didn't seem to have much problem with it then…"

"Jack!" Elizabeth nearly struck him. "You were alive again—that was all I understood." The deck had suddenly become fraught with tension, but Elizabeth couldn't help herself… what possible reason, what possible cause would have driven him to meet Will without her? "Why?"

"Revenge, I suppose," Jack muttered, tilting his head away. "But Marta, ye've seen him too. How did that happen?"

"I…" Marta hesitated for a moment, glancing back and forth between the glowering Elizabeth and Jack, who was pretending indifference. "I was killed. By Birmingham and Charles Vane. They caught me, forced a confession, and then drowned me." Jack and Elizabeth both took a very stunned step back. "Not to worry, I'm no ghost. Your husband was bringing me to the land of the dead and I told him what I had heard of Birmingham's plan. He agreed to let me come back to warn you."

"Well that's a bundle of news and no mistake," muttered Jack. "Charles Vane—in league with Birmingham?"

"Jack," Elizabeth interrupted uneasily, "I… I made a bargain with Vane."

"What sort of bargain?" A steely cold look washed over his face. He took her shoulders and shook her a little. "What sort of bargain, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth couldn't lift her eyes to look at him. Swallowing painfully, she tumbled the words out as Jack tightened his iron grip on her. "I told him to find a way to get my child back from Birmingham. I told him if he succeeded, I would… I would…"

"Ye would?"

It was Barbossa who interrupted, striding onto the deck with an exasperated sigh. "She'd show her gratitude the best way a woman can, Jack. No need to pretend shock."

A thousand thoughts sprang into Elizabeth's head: that she was sorry, felt wretched, had only done it because she was desperate and had no other way out, that she had been alone, that she had to do it for Will… but her head cleared quickly. A foolish and wicked bargain it had been, but Jack had been the one to introduce her to Vane, and the one to leave her with him. She lifted her chin coldly. "Yes, no need to be shocked. I did what I had to do, or rather, pledged my word to do it. Nothing's been settled yet. Nor will it be, from the way things sound."

Jack focused on her intensely, filled with frustration and distress. She kept her chin aloft, her eyes burning him as if to dare his condemnation, until he finally shook his head. "Pirate," he whispered, and the word pierced her heart as sharply as it ever had. But never mind her heart; there was too much to take in now, too much to plan and… no time for her to fall weeping into his arms, no time for honesty. Callously she responded,

"As are you, Captain Sparrow. Having vengeance by going to my husband, indeed."

"It doesn't matter. Birmingham has your son, Elizabeth," Marta interrupted. "We haven't got much time. He's coming along with Vane to get to the Fountain of Youth. It's a Pirate King or a Pirate Lord that must remove the water, so they'll need you alive."

"My son?" Elizabeth repeated, and Marta paused in her flurried speech. "I have a son? You've seen him?"

Marta took her icy hands with a wistful smile. "Aye Elizabeth, he's… the most beautiful child I've ever seen. Healthy and… well… he looks just like you," she finished, seeming to bite of the word.

Elizabeth turned away quickly, her muscles tightening, one hand clutching her abdomen.

"They've got the compass. They'll follow you all the way to the Fountain, and they have the leverage to succeed. Unless…"

"We lay a trap," Jack continued. "Make them think we've no idea of their plans."

"They don't know you're alive," Marta put in. "That'll work to our advantage."

"I'd wager they don't know you're alive either, lass," Jack said playfully. "Rather nice to talk to someone who's been dead before as well. Barbossa and I get a bit lonesome."

Elizabeth shuddered at his humorous tone and then, with quiet resolution, turned and began climbing down the ladder.

"Where are ye going, Lizzie?" Jack asked at once.

"It's Elizabeth, Captain Sparrow. I'm returning to my ship, the Black Pearl… and I leave it to you to lay the plans."

"Now, Lizzie, don't be like that—" but she was already climbing into the longboat. Jack turned back to Marta and Barbossa with a grimace.

"Ye're terrible at all this, Sparrow," Barbossa chuckled.

"Jack, there's something you should know," Marta said urgently, pulling him close. "About Elizabeth's child." She stood up to whisper in his ear, and Jack's face changed. At first still and white, but as he listened, a hint, aye, a ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. And then he sprang for the ladder, his eyes on the _Pearl_.

* * *

Elizabeth sat on the big bed in her cabin, knees pulled up to her chest, face buried between her arms. A son. She had a son. Alive, healthy, close. Somehow the mere knowledge made her ache inside, ache to hold him, ache to know him. Was he happy? Was he well taken care of? If she ever got him back, would he like her? 

A knock on the door. "Lizzie, it's me."

"Go away, Jack."

He opened the door (it really was _his_ cabin, after all, he thought) and she glared at him. "That wasn't very nice, love."

"You'd better stand off, Sparrow, or I'll shoot you."

"I wouldn't doubt it," he said, leaning against the wall so that he shadow fell across her. She shivered and pulled her knees closer. Even from this distance, she could smell his skin and feel the warmth of it. Even from this distance, she burned with desire for him, desire to be held and covered by him. She knew the way his mouth tasted, the way his hands felt on her body… but her knowledge only made her more desperate for him.

"Why in hell's name did you go to Will?" she asked. His face grew dim.

"And why in hell did ye sell yerself to Vane?"

"I didn't sell myself," she said through clenched teeth. "_You_ left me with him. I had no choice."

"No choice," he muttered, turning his back to her.

"Jack," her voice quavered imperceptibly, "What did Will say?"

He remained still for a moment, as if contemplating whether to respond. And then, without warning, he spun around, pulled her off the bed and into his arms, taking her lips hungrily, greedily. She moaned softly in surprise and then again as he crushed her body against his, a strangled oath escaping his lips as she returned his kiss with almost furious passion.

"I'm sorry," they both said at once, hardly pausing to get the words out before they collapsed onto the bed.

"Ye're my Lizzie now, it doesn't matter what Will said," Jack whispered, again pulling her nightgown away, and feeling that no matter how many times he saw her body he was always aghast at her rare splendor.

"Aye," Elizabeth exhaled, "And it doesn't matter what bargain was made with Vane… I'd kill him with my own hands if you said so, Jack…"

"Not a bad idea," Jack said with a mischievous smirk. "But no need planning today and taking the fun from tomorrow." His fingers danced across her skin, light at first, and then pressured and sensuous, tickling her, arousing her. "I like it so much better when we're friends."

"Lovers, you mean," Elizabeth laughed, limbs tangled with his, hearts met and beating together. Or perhaps a bit of both—they were more enemies than friends, and yet always more lovers than anything else...

* * *

_ More to come soon... _


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18.**

_Thank you all so much for the reviews! They make me very happy. :)  
_

* * *

Jack lay awake, his arms enfolded around Elizabeth, listening to the peaceful sound of her breathing. He couldn't quite believe she was there. It seemed impossibly beautiful to hold the woman he loved while she slept… to stroke her skin softly, to feel how perfectly she fit against him. The feeling was akin to what he had experienced upon getting the Pearl back at long last—he couldn't touch her enough, couldn't stare at her enough. He almost held his breath, fearing she would be taken from him again. And all those lonely nights, all those deadly journeys had been worth it in the end—aye, worth it beyond anything he could have imagined. He had never cared much for silver or gold or the supposed treasure of pirates, he had cared for the thrill of discovery and the rush of success. Elizabeth was this, over and over. She was dangerous and unpredictable and invigorating and… and hilarious, sometimes. Jack grinned languidly. He liked it when she was laughing. Of all the enemies (and lovers) he'd had (and well, there had been more than a few), she was his favorite on all counts. The only enemy he'd ever allowed to kill him, and the only lover he'd ever gotten with child.

With that thought, Jack shifted uncomfortably in the bed. What a bit of news that had been… he didn't quite know how to take it. He was vaguely terrified of children, deciding years ago he would make a horrid father (and probably an absent one) and so went about learning the necessary tricks to make sure that never happened. But of course, all bets were off and all tricks were null and void when it came to Lizzie. A man couldn't be expected to keep his wits about him with her.

A son. A son with black eyes. Jack tried to picture him, wondering whether the boy would favor him or Lizzie. Hopefully Lizzie. He grinned again, imagining her changing nappies and holding a squalling infant, exhausted and probably blaming him. Lizzie as a mother. Hilarious. And a name? Not Jack—that was a plain name for the child of the Pirate King. Jack grimaced. God forbid Lizzie would want to name it William.

"Jack, are you ever going to sleep?" she mumbled without looking up.

"Sorry, love," he whispered, wondering whether she would throw him out of bed or wake up and talk to him. Ah, the latter. Lovely.

"What's bothering you, Jack?"

"Absolutely nothing," he answered half-truthfully. "I was just… watching ye sleep." It sounded very odd, that. But she smiled groggily.

"If I'd of known that, I would have done myself up a bit more. Put on a nightgown or something."

"Then ye'd ruin the point, darlin'."

She laughed. "Oh Jack. You know, when I was younger I always wondered what one did about one's husband at night. It seemed awful that he would see you right when you woke up… a mess and all."

"A very tempting mess," Jack said, pulling her close so he could feel her pulse match his. "Ye're vulnerable when you sleep, ye know. I like ye that way."

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Sparrow," she said with a little laugh, resting her head on his chest. "In the morning, its back to being enemies until we sort out our plans."

He pouted, squinting at her. "Couldn't we just be friends tomorrow, Lizzie? It'd make me very happy."

She looked up at him again, searching his face before giving him a shy kiss. "Jack, I want to make you happy." And she did, though she couldn't articulate exactly why. Seeing him smile made her heart jump. He had such an overwhelming personality, she had always felt she must somehow be on her guard, be on the defensive or he would persuade and wheedle his way straight through her. But he was vulnerable when he slept too. "We'll be friends tomorrow, the very best of friends, savvy?"

"Savvy," he returned, wondering why she had given in so easily. He wondered without any fear whether she were planning on killing him or trading him or otherwise manipulating his life again… he wondered, but didn't think it much mattered anymore. His only real problem was whether (and if yes, how) to tell her about the child. Another grin. Why bother explaining something that she would soon see for herself? The area of her devotion to Will was dangerous territory, requiring patience for the opportune moment to arrive. Aye, let the child handle that conversation.

* * *

"Rather a complicated pair, aren't they?" Barbossa said to Marta, who was leaning against the rail of the _Norfolk_, gazing off towards the sea as though entranced by it.

"Everything's complicated when you're in love," Marta replied softly. Barbossa grunted assent and joined her.

"So, the Captain of the Flying Dutchman sent ye back for a mere warning, one that he could have given himself, is that it?"

"He couldn't have," Marta said sharply. "He's bound to the ship, bound to his post, bound to his choice."

"Aren't we all?"

Marta blinked back a few half-hearted tears, replacing them with a wry grin. "It's strange to be back."

"I know what ye mean, miss. Aye, it took me a fair passage of time to understand it all." He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Second time's the charm, as they say."

"It's the third time for charm, Captain Barbossa. The second time is just difficult. You know death will come back for you, no way out of it. Unless…" she hesitated.

"Ye're thinking what we've all thought, lass. But immortality? I don't quite know meself if it's the answer. Too easy, I begin to think."

"Not if you give yourself over to a noble task."

Barbossa frowned and studied Marta's profile, lit by the lanterns. Some unfathomable knowledge lurked in those pretty eyes. "What is the bargain ye've made with Will Turner?" he asked, leaving no room for argument.

"Why, I haven't…" Marta felt his strong grip on her wrist, and she let out her breath. "I kissed him and told him I would give him peace. I'm to warn his wife, see her safely out of Birmingham's reach, and then take his post as Captain of the Flying Dutchman."

"Is that all?"

"He would see his child once before the end," Marta amended, unable to connect the pain in her wrist to a sense of urgency in her brain. "But seeing the circumstances, I doubt it will be possible. He's fading, little by little. He's not human anymore." She looked at Barbossa's steely face with strange calm. "I'm sure you understand what that feels like. There must have been moments you wished for the release of death."

Barbossa abruptly let go of her wrist. "Aye. Nothing I'm proud of, but when ye're living in hell, anything seems better by comparison."

"I am sorry for him," Marta said, and Barbossa could see by the look in her eyes she was sincere, more sincere than he'd ever seen her. "Life is so unfair."

"Makes it interesting, at least," Barbossa said with a half-smile.

"Yes," Marta agreed, her face clearing. "An adventure, always an adventure. Even if it's short, it's somehow worth it."

* * *

It was an hour past dawn at least before the first trouble of following day arrived.

"Bad news!" Gibbs cried from the helm, repeating the words of the lookout above. "Very, very bad!"

In the captain's cabin, Jack and Elizabeth put their heads under the covers.

"Can't we have one day of peace?" he muttered.

"I'm afraid not. We aren't decent folk earning a respectable living in a quaint little seaside village. We're the scourge of the seven seas, and as such, entitled to constant interruption and endless bad news…"

"Enough of your sarcasm!" Jack ordered, covering her mouth.

"Honestly, Jack," she laughed, slithering out of his grip, "how bad can it be? Birmingham can't possibly have arrived yet."

"Aye, an unknown trouble, even better," Jack smirked as they both searched for their clothes on the floor.

"Stop looking at me!" Elizabeth scolded him. "We're supposed to be friends today, remember? Do you look at your friends that way?"

"Usually my friends aren't naked," Jack chuckled, tossing her shirt at her. She caught it and pulled it over her head, frowning as she realized it was his. "And as long as we're being friends, we may as well determine to be cheerful."

"It would certainly give the crew something to wonder about."

He swatted at her with a garment and she reached for a pillow, fighting back in the midst of giggles. She hit him square across the back and he held his hands up. "I surrender, darlin'."

"And I was afraid this morning would be awkward."

"Ah," Jack said with a mischievous glance, "What'll be awkward is the two of us being friends all day, trying not to picture each other naked."

"Jack!"

"Honestly, love. I know the way you blush. Ye won't be able to deny it."

"I do _not_ blush, Captain Sparrow."

"Ye know Lizzie, if this friend thing is going to work out, ye're going to have to stop disagreeing with everything I say."

"It would be infinitely easier if you didn't make ridiculous statements," she stopped because he had come and kissed her lightly on the lips, "and… well…"

"Ye were saying?"

She lifted her chin, arrogant and beautiful to him in the dim light that trickled in. "Give me my trousers and I'll make a decisive effort, all right?"

* * *

"Mr. Gibbs, what seems to be the trouble?"

Mr. Gibbs gave a startled double-take at his Captain, who was very obviously holding hands with the Pirate King. "Blackbeard," he finally muttered, nodding off the port bow. "It's the _Revenge_, sure as I'm standing here, getting closer every minute."

"Jolly good!" Jack said, slapping Gibbs' back. "Probably just here to see his daughter. Let's all head over to the _Norfolk_ and have us a chat, eh?"

"Oh Jack, that's a marvelous idea," Elizabeth put in at once, flashing him a bright smile. "And Mr. Gibbs, do make sure to bring some rum over. I wouldn't want Jack to get thirsty."

"Why thank ye, Lizzie!" Jack said, "And while ye're at it, Mr. Gibbs, tell the crew they may have the morning off. We'll sail this afternoon, once we've accommodated Mr. Blackbeard." Jack bent to whisper something in Elizabeth's ear, and she dissolved into giggles.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Gibbs exploded.

"What was that, Mr. Gibbs?"

Gibbs stuck his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips. "I said, aye aye, Captain."

"Wonderful. Off you go then."

* * *

A canon suddenly burst across the water, yards off from any target, but loud enough to completely terrify the crews of both the _Norfolk_ and the_Pearl_. A deep cloudless sky hung over the ships, which were encased by the yellow sunlight directing downwards. It would have made a pretty scene, hanging on a oil rack in a sitting room far away, but the noise and the smell of gunpowder became all the more sinister against the peaceful backdrop.

"Jack," Elizabeth cried as they climbed the ladder onto the deck of the _Norfolk_, "I thought you said he would only want to talk."

"I was being cheerful, love. Not realistic."

"Does he have reason to hate you?"

Jack tilted his head with a sweetly perplexed look in his wide dark eyes. "Nothing comes to mind." He kept his face puzzling for her benefit. "But then, I have offended a lot of people in my time."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Comes with the territory I suppose." She caught his gold-glinting grin and then quickly averted her eyes, blushing deeply.

"I told ye so!" Jack responded triumphantly. "I can only imagine ye're imagining very forbidden things about a certain friend of yers, am I right?"

Elizabeth reached up to pinch him and he helped her onto the deck, shooting her an innocent look. "One can't always control one's thoughts, my dear Captain Sparrow."

"Glad to hear it," Jack said with a smirk. He focused off towards the horizon, where indeed the _Revenge_ came speeding with a good wind. Elizabeth brushed his arm sensuously, but he kept his eyes trained on the horizon until he could feel her growing annoyance.

"Jack, aren't you going to return the favor and imagine something blush-worthy?" She shoved her unruly hair out of her face and leaned a bit closer.

"Persuade me."

She ought to be exasperated, but it was such a charming reminder of their past flirtations, she couldn't help but smile. Why did it always feel so good, giving in to temptation, reveling in it? Why did it delight her so to rebel and play into the hands of a man she should be avoiding at all costs? With a sly smile, she slid her hand around his waist and pulled him against her. "You might be gratified to learn I haven't got anything on under my jacket." And besides her breeches, it was true. Instead of blushing, Jack eyed the buttons down her front as though contemplating how best to tear them off.

"I said persuade me, not seduce me like a harlot," he said, though his eyes were laughing.

"A harlot?" Elizabeth repeated, pretending to be displeased. "Either way, we've got a situation on our hands, my _friend_, and no time for seductions or anything like it. Savvy?"

"Damn all that to the depths," Jack said, seizing her hand and pulling her behind the stairs before anyone could see them. Shadowed and pressed against the wood, the two began kissing with the feverish lust of youths, Jack's hands moving roughly over her body. Breathless, they pulled away briefly as Barbossa emerged onto the deck a few feet away.

"Jack, we ought to…"

"Aye," he said guiltily, his expression akin to a child caught stealing sweets. "I can't help meself. I'm a very bad friend."

"And a very good lover, so you're forgiven," Elizabeth said, dragging him back into the sunlight and meeting Barbossa's mocking gaze steadily.

"If you two would pull yerselves together for five minutes," he huffed, "we might be able to sort this out. Its two ships to one so Blackbeard won't think of attacking. But the warning shot means he's in trouble—either royal navy nearby or plague aboard."

"No," Marta interjected, appearing suddenly. "It's just his way of saying hello. But he'd better not see me… it'd make him rather suspicious, seeing as he traded me to Birmingham but a few days ago."

"That crooked swindler!" Barbossa said, adding a few curses gratuitously. "Tradin' his own daughter to save his worthless hide…"

Elizabeth tightened her grip on Jack's arm, everything about the morning delighting her, thrilling her. How lovely to be on the open seas, adventuring with pirates! How lovely to be so desired as she was right now. She could feel Jack's eyes on her, roving carelessly over her body, undoubtedly imagining her in other attire, or in less attire… she chuckled again, and then, to cover herself, she reached to pat Barbossa's shoulder. "Captain Barbossa, anyone would think you were a perfect terror, but really you've a soft heart! You cluck like a hen over a chick whenever one of us is in trouble. What's become of your back-stabbing pirate ways?"

Barbossa attempted to kill her with his look, and when that failed had to content himself by crossing his arms and scowling. "Just because I hate Blackbeard doesn't mean I wouldn't trade any of ye if my life were on the line. Especially since I've been wantin' that title of 'Pirate King' for a long time. I'd watch me back if I were ye, missy."

Elizabeth indulged him with a nod.

* * *

"It's a bargain I'm here for," Blackbeard was saying in his distinctive half-bellow, half-recitation of a voice. His face was deeply sunburned and his hair was beginning to be flecked with gray, but he still cut an imposing—and impressive—figure as the most successful pirate in those waters. "I have on my very ship a fellow-friend and conspirator of yorn, fine looking lad he is. And he happened to share with me details of yer… eh… how shall we say, venture?"

"The Fountain of Youth?" Elizabeth put in blandly, at which Blackbeard's face took on a hungry light. "If that's what you're here for, Mr. Thatch, you may as well set your sails the other direction before the wind changes. It doesn't exist."

"You lie very poorly, my dear," Blackbeard said with a hearty grin. "Though I'd wager you have other talents…"

Jack's coldly furious face came between Elizabeth and the leering dark haired pirate. "Yer lucky I don't blast yer ship from the water, Blackbeard. We know what ye did to little Marta Black. Yer a scoundrel, and ye've broken the code. Kinship isn't something to be taken lightly, mate."

Blackbeard swept his hand over his heart in an exaggerated motion that reminded Elizabeth oddly of Kit Vane. The recollection of him made her queasy. So many loose ends to tie up. "Impunin' me honor, Sparrow?" he cried dramatically. "I learned yer father years ago not to do it, and now it seems I'll have to repeat the lesson on ye."

"Now, now," Barbossa (somewhat irritated by having to be the peacemaker) quipped, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. The boy ye've got legally belongs to us. Give him up and we'll talk terms."

"Legally?" Blackbeard gawked into Barbossa's sallow, but serious, face. "What in criminey are you speakin' of, legally? We're bloody pirates, all. I rightfully captured the boy. Ye want him, ye pay for him."

"Very well," Barbossa said with a weary sigh, reaching one hand into his jacket and pulling out a polished pistol, which he pointed nonchalantly at Blackbeard.

"Despicable cheat," Blackbeard commented without much emotion.

"Kin-trading half-breed," Barbossa returned, just as calmly. Elizabeth and Jack looked from one to the other in amusement. Blackbeard finally gestured to one of his men.

"Bring the boy over," he muttered. "If it's a party they want, they'll have it."

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows as the messenger went its way, leaning over to whisper to Barbossa, "Why are you so concerned for the boy's life? Is there something here we should know?"

"Nothing aside from the boy's obvious knowledge of our quest," Barbossa hissed back, his eyes trained on Blackbeard, who was staring at Elizabeth with clear meaning. "Trust me, King, I know what I'm about here."

"Trust you?" Elizabeth asked with a hushed laugh. "Easier said than done."

Jack, looking a bit left out, stuck his head into their little conference. "Why should we trust you, Hector?"

Barbossa pursed his lips mournfully. "I really thought we were rid of ye before, Jack. Why'd ye have to come back?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Jack said with a glint in his eye, as Elizabeth hid her smile behind her hand. Their attraction was making both of them daring, reckless, and humorously laid back. Another time this tense situation may have erupted into a battle between the three ships. Now, however, all that seemed likely to happen was a lavish dinner.

"Aye, a lavish dinner, that'll be just the thing!" Jack said, and Elizabeth guffawed that he had read her thoughts so clearly.

"We're supposed to set sail this afternoon, Captain," Barbossa reminded him with a murderous clearing of his throat.

"It can wait," Elizabeth said.

"Wait? We've got Birmingham and half the Royal Navy bearing down on us with a clear heading, and ye think we've got time to wine and dine a dirty scoundrel on the run?"

John Porter was suddenly shoved on deck, a few of Blackbeard's men surrounding him, though it hardly seemed necessary. He'd grown both taller and stronger during his brief stay aboard the _Revenge_… seeming to have taken on the nature of the ship's crew: tough, sharp and silent on the job, but with the potential for serious merry-making when there was rum afoot. Barbossa gave him a pleased look-over before turning back towards Blackbeard.

"Very good. I'll have him."

"No ye won't," Blackbeard hedged, frowning as the pistol moved a bit closer. "Not without paying for him."

"We can discuss the price over this lavish dinner in the works," Barbossa huffed under his breath. "Until then, he'll stay aboard my ship and you can go back to yers and hope the price at least includes yer miserable life."

Blackbeard folded his powerful arms across his chest, eyeing Barbossa dubiously, and then licking his lips. Grudgingly he looked towards Jack.

"Aye, that'll be the way, Blacky. And don't think about touching yer canons. We're two to one." Jack swept Elizabeth's arm into his and began to saunter away, leaving Blackbeard, Barbossa and the crew gaping after them. "Dinner's at eight. Savvy?"

* * *


	19. Chapter 19

**Ch. 19. **

This chapter a compilation of many stolen plot bunnies and a few wild ones caught for the occasion. **Reviews much appreciated!**

_Little side note: Liz brought up a very good point that I got sloppy on. Blackbeard's ship is the Queen Anne's Revenge, which I have just been shortening to "Revenge" for convenience sake. Since I messed with history to play around with Jack Sparrow alternating as Calico Jack, I kept his ship the Pearl and didn't include his ship, simply named the Revenge, in my story. So, when I say Revenge, I actually mean Queen Anne's Revenge, belonging to Blackbeard. Thanks for pointing that out, Liz!_

* * *

Mr. Gibbs was a man of many hidden talents, Elizabeth thought watching him fiddle away cheerily with a few other musicians. The night was warm and windy, lanterns had been lit across the deck of the Pearl, and their earlier joke of a dinner party had actually materialized. Though dinner was a big word for what they were actually consuming: rations augmented by exceptional amounts of rum. Elizabeth stood in a shadow watching the scene and wishing with all her might danger was not always bearing down on them so steadily. These brief moments of freedom—the raucous laughter of a crew that had become her family, the crackle of firelight, the smell of the sea thick around them—these moments were what she lived for. What she had longed for since she was a girl. Here she was the equal of men and a legend in her own right; it didn't matter how accomplished she was at singing arias or how impeccably she danced, whether she spoke German or took tea with the Duchess… here she was only a brother at arms, a crucial cog in the rickety vessel. Here she was whatever she had it in herself to be.

She felt a soft fluttering at her neck and Jack's hands went about her waist, his lips in her hair. She closed her eyes wistfully and savored the gentleness of his movements, the exhilarating burn in her middle. The risky delay was worth it, if only for this. Years ago she had chanted to her nurse the qualifications of her future lover… perhaps she had been fifteen years old? Of course, that had been the year she read the stories of the Brothers Grimm a thousand times… stories of princesses under enchantment, poor boys with cleverness and luck, magic and adventure. _"His eyes will be beautiful and alive, intense and dangerous and deep. His mouth will laugh and speak clever things and sometimes be sarcastic; his smile will overwhelm me. Hands will be strong, useful. Body will be a map of his life, scars, stories, maybe aged by the sun, imperfect."_

"My King, your loyal subject has a gift he would like to give ye… as a friend, of course. As friends do."

"_The road we walk together will be an adventure to rival thousands of years of history. Epic, daring, reckless, irresistible will be our love. He will do battle for me, I will do battle for him..."_

Elizabeth turned to face him; he wore his boots and thereby could lord over her a bit. On her tiptoes she reached with her tongue to taste his open mouth, and she flushed at his quick intake of breath. "A gift, Jack? What could it be, I wonder?"

"Not that," he laughed, glancing about. "Aren't ye beginning to worry for yer honor?"

It was her turn to laugh. "Don't you remember, Calico Jack, that you already ruined_that_ at our last little gathering? The whole of Tortuga—and therefore every pirate in the Caribbean—must know by now."

"I'm not sorry," he smirked, a bit of a twitch crossing his face. The musicians had started up a jig. Jack took her hand and pulled her towards her cabin. "Come on. Wouldn't want to miss the whole song."

"What is it, Jack?" Elizabeth asked as he shut the door behind them. A box sat on the bed.

"Nothin' much, I warn ye," he said, with a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Blackbeard had a fair bit of swag to get rid of, and I thought ye might… I thought it would…" He finally shrugged. "Just open it."

Heart pounding, Elizabeth lifted the lid of the worn box. Inside she caught a glimpse of china silk, blue as the Caribbean sky in summer. She pulled out the dress and shook it so the soft folds tumbled around her, smelling of perfume and finery. It was breathtaking, by far the nicest dress she'd seen since giving up her old life. And yet oddly, it looked like something Jack would have chosen—simple, elegant, unexpected. Elizabeth shook her head slightly, wondering where on earth Jack had come from. Every time she thought she had him figured, he surprised her. Her heart clenched, remembering the morning after she had been made Pirate King when he told her she should wear blue. He hadn't forgotten. "Jack," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "I can't wear this…"

"Oh," he mumbled, half-turning to the door, "That's alright. I didn't know what ye might like."

"I mean, it's far too grand for me, Jack!" She dropped the dress on the bed and went to him, wrapping her arms around him, his braids tickling her face. "I'm too common now…"

"Common?" Jack twined his fingers through her hair, looking over her with brash and possessive adoration. "Ye're King. The world ain't worthy of ye, Lizzie."

She wondered if she would cry. She certainly felt like it. It had been a long time since she had felt so valued, so precious to anyone. The months had taken their toll on her, made her hard and defensive as she fought to survive. And now here she was wrapped in the arms of Captain Jack Sparrow, and he was giving her a present. It was ridiculous—wonderfully so.

"Help me put it on," she said softly, sliding out of her breeches and coat. "I'm sure that was half your reason—to watch me undress before your eyes, Sparrow."

"Aye," he chuckled, all bravado again, "Aye that was it, love."

He helped her step into the dress and pulled it up, beginning the long series of buttons down the back, the task easy for his long deft fingers. And as he traveled slowly up her back he was thinking, _we have a child. We have a child. Lizzie and me. Me and Lizzie. Pirate King and Pirate Lord. An irresponsible pirate and an (irresistible) unfaithful King._ _We are in _way_ over our heads._ And yet for all these thoughts, Jack could only grin. He had never imagined love would be like this—when they fought it was the end of the world; when they made love it was like the dawn of creation, everything new and unspoiled.

"Not too tight?" he questioned. "Wouldn't want ye falling off any battlements tonight darlin'."

"It's perfect," Elizabeth replied. It felt so strange to wear a dress again—she felt her cheeks glow, her spirit lighten—in short, she felt attractive. Delicate, graceful, pretty. She twirled around in her bare feet so the skirt flared out and she could see Jack's eyes sparkling with admiration.

"That's it. A dress or nothing, as I always said."

"With you," she said, a gleam in her eye, "I'd rather it be nothing."

"Well so would I, obviously, love. But the plan'll go to pot if we don't get back out there."

"Jack, can I tell you something?" Her long lashes brushed her sunburned cheeks as she twisted her hair out of her face.

"Aye, always."

She hesitated. Stepped back so there was a bit of distance between them. "Before you told me you were going to stab the heart… before you told me to marry Will… I thought… that night, I only wanted you. Forever."

Jack swallowed imperceptibly, his face unreadable in the dim light.

"When you told me you were going to stab the heart, I knew we wouldn't have forever. I thought you'd… thought you'd chosen the sea, chosen freedom." She took a deep breath, straightening her back. "I'm not explaining this very well." Why wouldn't he say anything? "I watched you fight with Davy Jones in the rigging. I was watching you Jack, the way you moved, the way you looked…" the images of him that were forever branded in her mind, iconic, epic. "I thought having you was beyond me, forever beyond me, Jack. And Will—he made his choice too. He was going to give up saving his father for me. I suppose you two had worked it out. But he was offering me a lifetime with him—he was offering me every day, every night. And I loved him, I knew he loved me, it made so much sense at the time…" she trailed off a bit. "It was so safe. It was a way forward."

He just stood there looking at her, his eyes dark as shuttered windows, unblinking.

"If you hadn't told me you were going to stab the heart, Jack, I think… I might have… I wanted _you_. And then in the end, I had nothing."

A long quiet moment passed with the faint waft of music from the deck evaporating in the air. At last Jack spoke. "That isn't the case now, love—ye having nothin', I mean." He took both her hands and kissed them. "Ye have a son somewhere, and ye'll get him back. And ye have an honest man who loves ye."

"Who loves me?" she repeated.

"Aye," Jack said, his eyes burning with earnestness. "I know it's not much, but there it is. I love ye, Lizzie Swann Turner, Pirate King. Very, very much."

She looked at him wonderingly, his wide black eyes, his weathered dark face, the dangerous line of his mouth. A pirate and a good man, an enemy and a soul-mate. Everything in her was drawn to him, felt bound to him, needed him. Hadn't it all been for him? Letting go of her old life in Port Royal, braving the things she most feared, battling and deceiving him in order to see that admiration in his hypnotic face? She felt dizzy and wild and wicked, confessing these things to him, these things that were meant to be secrets between her heart and the sea. "I love you too, Jack Sparrow. I don't know how exactly it happened but I love you too." They came together in the darkest shadow, Elizabeth's hands still learning the curves and contours of his body, the taste of his mouth still driving her mad with desire that exploded like a the embers of a bonfire by the sea on an island that was both prison and paradise. When at last she paused to take a shaky breath, she saw the smile she had left behind. "Very, very much."

* * *

John Porter stood grimly against the rail, far removed from the festivities around him. Where drink flowed free, men would become happy again, even if their lives were in ruins and their dreams were dead. But not him. It seemed wasteful to blunt the edge of a broken heart, pain of his own making. Mere days had violently cast aside the awkward youth he had been, the ideals he had cherished. Everything had fallen, everything had failed him. And yet, his face was set and immobile. Life went on. Aye, always, life went on, whether or no one's heart was intact.

A flash of color drew his gaze, and he saw the inscrutable and eccentric Captain Sparrow emerge from the hold with the Pirate King, who was encased in a sky-blue gown of foreign make, the lines of which accented her slim, wild grace. An odd site in the middle of a den of criminals—a vision, a siren… her face was luminous, her posture radiating the exhilaration that must be the meeting of love and desire between her and her dark companion. Both pained and fascinated, Porter watched Sparrow bow to her, take her hand with the ease of a courtier, and lead her toward the musicians. Aching, he watched him guide across the deck in an unstructured dance of sorts, a dance that was made not of steps but of looks, caresses, sparks flying between them, and drenched with the impulsive charm of feeling secure in the arms of someone you trust. He wanted to look away and couldn't. It was scandalous and aberrant and hellishly beautiful, the way they danced… the embodiment of passion fulfilled.

"John," Marta said softly in his ear, her face half-swathed in a scarf. "John, come with me. Don't say anything. Come with me."

His eyes closed, a muscle in his jaw tightened. He had already forgotten how to hope.

Marta was watching Jack and Elizabeth dance with a strange mixture of jealousy and worship. Impatiently, she reached for John's hand. "Stop doubting and come with me. I've only a few moments."

* * *

_Why did love make people such fools?_ Blackbeard wondered with a thoughtful draw on his pipe. His boots were up on a chair, his eyes glassy and half-watching the Pirate King dance in the arms of Jack Sparrow. Aye, their little romance had made them very careless. Did they think he couldn't see the sometimes anxious glances of their crew in his direction, did they think he couldn't guess their plan? To get he and his men drunk as a lord and then leave them sitting ducks to delay Birmingham?

But he wouldn't be left to make hasty bargains for his life again. This time, he would deliver a prize and be given safety, protection for life. This time, he would deliver the Pirate King.

* * *

"They did _what_!" John Porter's awkwardness and idealism were back in force and number. Clutching Marta's hands, he listened to her story with alternating rage and awe. "But you aren't… you're alive now, Marta, aren't you?"

"Yes, for the present…" She looked away uncomfortably, unsure how to tell him of the bargain she had made with William Turner. "I kept thinking, John, that I had treated you badly. Taken you for granted. I think I love you, John, I think I always have… I found myself wishing we had stayed in Port Morgan and settled down…"

"We still can, Marta," he said eagerly, plunging headlong into his old dreams.

"No," she shook her head. "I… I've given my word to the Captain of the Flying Dutchman." She looked at him seriously. "Swear on your life you'll tell no one."

"I swear it," he said in confusion.

"I promised I would release him from his vow, give him peace. I swore I would take his place."

Porter's face took on an exceptional hue of white. "But Marta… think of it. Sailing the seas forever, forgotten, alone?"

"When death comes to you, John, you might be willing to do anything to prolong life too. Until that day, you can't judge me."

"I don't," he breathed, ashamed. "But I won't let you do this. We'll run away somewhere… we'll find a way out."

Marta wondered vainly how many young lovers had been parted by the sea, parted by the curse of a heathen goddess released to do her worst. A cruel life, a cruel task. She recalled the blank emptiness of Will Turner's face with a shiver of sorrow. "Turner has given protection of Elizabeth to Jack Sparrow. Knowing she is being looked after, he feels he can give up his burden and be at peace."

"So…" Porter's eyes were lidded and his face tense, "So… if Jack Sparrow weren't there to protect her, this William Turner would keep his post after all?"

* * *

Marks on his skin where she had clawed him, clutched at him to keep from crying out in pleasure the night before. Heat between her thighs when she saw him, heard his voice. Red waves crashing in her mind when he touched her, took her, thrust into her. And the quiet that came as after a storm when they fell apart panting and damp with each other's sweat. The quiet that might be peace, like the sea after a storm, sated, satisfied. Limbs tangled and melded together, bruises gathering where he had violently kissed her, taken her skin. Hands entwined.

Later he slept. She watched him. He slept on his back, straight and still; she slept on her side, curled up. It was inevitable that she ended up in his arms. Inevitable that they found one another again, cast aside their vows and their responsibilities to lose themselves in each other. It was sacred as a cathedral and forbidden as the pagan rituals described in those fairytale stories. But mostly it was inevitable… always had been. If Jack had stabbed the heart, Elizabeth knew with rooted certainty that ten years later she would have made an excuse to Will and crept to the beach to await him, to give herself to him, to grasp the freedom he gave for one night before they parted again. He was her destruction and her deliverance… and he was beside her in the bed, and he had told her he loved her.

He was intoxicating to the senses. Always the smells of life clinging to him—salt, sweat, rum, the breeze off the ocean, wood smoke. Would she love him if he was anything but what he was?

She rolled out of the bed quietly; he was a light sleeper. The blue dress lay across a chair, and instead she pulled on the nightgown she had left before. Opened the door, holding her breath, and tiptoed out onto the deck. Looked steadily up at the moon that hung silver and sympathetic above her. Wondered where her son was, whether he was asleep. Wondered, oddly, how Jack would look holding a child.

* * *

A noise startled Jack and he jerked up, his pupils dilated quick as a cat, taking in the dark surroundings. Lizzie wasn't beside him, the covers were cold, how long had she been gone?

His pulse raced. Something wasn't right. The cabin door hung slightly open, a cold wind off the sea streaming in with regularity. He fumbled for his trousers and then strode onto the deck, everything quiet. And yet, not so. The deck bore the marks of a recent scuffle—a fight. A few bottles had been spilled and smashed about, a pistol lay discarded in the mess. Lizzie's pistol. The longboat was gone. And a few spots of blood darkened the wood near the ladder.

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack said, though his voice was strained and barely audible. It was only too obvious. The _Queen Anne's Revenge_ was gone, nowhere to be seen. The lookout must have fallen asleep, or been drugged. Damn the lookout. The plan was ruined. Blackbeard must have known. Blackbeard had taken Elizabeth, taken her in the opposite direction and that could only mean one thing. He was taking her to Birmingham.

Jack whirled around to raise the alarm, and was met by John Porter.

"Out of me way, boy, we've got to get underway at once—"

"Don't move, Captain Sparrow," John Porter said in an unsteady voice.

Jack stopped, puzzled, and turned around. Porter held a rifle in one hand, loaded and cocked, his finger on the trigger.

* * *

**More to come soon... **


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey it's Chapter 20! Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews! They really make it all worthwhile. :)  
**

* * *

Elizabeth was flung forward onto the deck of the _Revenge_, fire smoldering in her dark eyes despite the marks across her face—marks left by Blackbeard's hand, mostly. Deep scratches showed on his arms where she had fought him; if he hadn't been clever with the rag around her mouth, Elizabeth might have woken the whole ship with her screams and escaped her current predicament. And oh, how infuriating it was to be without her gun or her sword—to feel defenseless.

Painfully she rolled off her back and pushed herself up, taking a swift glance at the ship's layout. They were already moving full sail southeast… the _Black Pearl_ and the _Norfolk_ grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Dawn couldn't be far off.

"So much for coming along quietly," Blackbeard muttered.

"I'm the Pirate King," Elizabeth spat with grim pride. "I wouldn't have been elected in the first place if I were the kind to come along quietly."

"Aye, elected by yerself and yer lover, a great accomplishment," Blackbeard returned dryly. "But the title may have to be passed on soon, my dear. I don't think the Duke of Birmingham will fancy lettin' ye keep it."

"So I'm to lose my title and most likely my head, is that it?"

Blackbeard shrugged, seizing a towel from his first mate and dabbing at his wounds. "Couldn't say, lass. I've got to look after me ship and me crew, ye understand."

"This is the second time you've broken the code, Mr. Thatch. Trading kin and now trading the King. I'd hate to be you when Captain Teague finds out."

* * *

There were many things that could kill a man, Jack thought. Many ways to die. He had experienced a good portion of them. A gun to his heart would not be the end of him, not this time. What a joke that would be! The infamous Captain Sparrow carried off by a faltering youth on the deck of his own ship?

"Sorry mate," Jack said, stupidly grinning, finding the situation suddenly humorous. "But now's not my time. Do ye even know how to use that thing?"

Porter's eyes flashed. "Yes. I've killed a man before, once. I'll do it again."

Jack bit his lip and tried to keep his face serious. "I don't doubt it, son. But any man who kills me will find himself cursed."

"Cursed?"

"Aye, cursed," Jack said, "I'm under the protection of Calypso."

Porter frowned. "Let's see about that, shall we?" He took aim, pulled the trigger. The noise of the gun cracked like thunder across the ship.

"Bloody buggering hell!" Jack shouted, as the bullet found its mark in his shoulder. "I'm going to bloody _kill_ you, mate." He was shocked rather than in pain. This boy was clearly more desperate than Jack had given him credit for.

"Missed," the Porter boy said, with a mild sigh of disgust. He took aim again.

"Don't shoot!" Gibbs' voice suddenly broke out, as he and several crewmates stormed onto the deck. Jack seized his chance and knocked the gun out of Porter's hand.

"Yes, please do shoot," Jack grimaced as Gibbs pointed his own gun at Porter. "He's earned it."

"What in the name of Mary are ye thinkin' boy?" Gibbs asked.

John Porter pursed his lips. "I think I went about this wrong," he said at last. And then, with a flourish, he drew out his sword. "Captain Sparrow, a duel. To the death."

Jack made a face. "Well, let's see. Ye just shot me, and me crew's got ye under the gun. Don't think I'm in a mood to accept."

"Well spoken, Jack," Gibbs said, "And maybe ye ought to have someone look at that shoulder. Ye almost died of blood loss last time."

"Good thing I have a strong heart," Jack said with dangerous grin. Specks already were swimming in his eyes, still trained on the horizon Lizzie had vanished into. "Mr. Gibbs, we have to get underway. Blackbeard's taken one of ours captive."

"Any man who falls behind…" Gibbs reminded Jack cheerfully, motioning for Porter to drop his sword.

"It isn't any man this time, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, seizing the scarf around his first mate's neck to hold against his shoulder. "It is, in fact, a woman. And being such, not only a woman, but the Pirate King, we're bound to protect and defend her."

Gibbs' face went a bit white at the revelation. "Elizabeth? Blackbeard had the nerve…?"

"Apparently."

"God save the Queen!"

"The _King_, Mr. Gibbs."

* * *

Birmingham's ship must have been very near, indeed a good deal nearer than Elizabeth had expected. It was barely noon the next day that Elizabeth was roused from the brig and put into a longboat. How often longboats seemed to be taking her towards death. It was almost comical. Without thinking she laughed—certainly Jack would have appreciated the irony of it. Elizabeth hoped to God he hadn't come after her. What could two ships do against half the Royal Navy?

"Nothin' to fret," Blackbeard said wickedly. "Just an old friend here to see ye—not the whole armada, if that's what ye be expectin'."

Ah, an old friend. Charles Vane. She could see him on the deck already, his confident stride, his smile that oozed charm. How very unfortunate he was so evil.

"Kit!" She stood up in the longboat and waved brightly. Worth a shot, anyway.

"Elizabeth!" he cried back with equal enthusiasm.

Elizabeth risked her captor's ire and climbed the ladder first, practically flinging herself into Kit's arms.

"Wherever have you been, Kit?" She was itching to shoot him. Bother her lack of weapon.

"Carrying out the task you appointed to me, of course," Kit said with that peculiar bow he always made to her. "And you brought old Blackbeard with you. Of course!"

"Vane," Blackbeard said with an unfriendly nod. "I'm here to make an honest trade with the Duke. The Pirate King delivered alive and well, in return for constant and non-expiring clemency from the crown for all deeds—past, present, and future."

"Trading this lady? You scoundrel!" Kit's smile was warm as ever. "He's not here at the moment… a bit tied up with business, you understand. But of course it's a fair trade, that much is certain. You're free to go."

"I'll warn ye," Blackbeard said, "Her lover might come after her. Just so as yer prepared and all."

"Lover?" Kit looked puzzled. Elizabeth's face dropped; oh, she had bet on a cheap hope that Blackbeard wouldn't reveal Jack. Vane and Birmingham still thought him dead…

"Aye, Jack Sparrow."

The words were like cold water down Elizabeth's back. How easy, how careless Blackbeard made it seem—to betray, to murder the same pirates he had been raised among.

"I could have sworn Sparrow was dead," Kit said with utter good breeding. Elizabeth wondered why she had never noticed before how chilling Kit's smile was.

"No, alive and kicking, as always," Blackbeard said with a chuckle. "That man doesn't die easy."

"Her lover, you said?"

"That be the way of it," Blackbeard assented. Elizabeth let out a deep, disapproving breath.

"Lizzie, I'm surprised at you," Kit said with a twinkle in his eye. Elizabeth couldn't decide if it were jealousy or some twisted satisfaction written across Kit's face. "Letting that half-breed ruin your honor?"

"He'd ruined it a long time ago, Mr. Vane," Elizabeth said, arching her eyebrow. "Honor be damned when you've got Captain Jack Sparrow in your bed."

* * *

**1 year, 7 months, and a few days earlier **

The sun was a canary in the gray-green sky, uncomfortably intense and yet welcome to Jack as he walked the long slow walk down Marco's Island. Nightmares were easier to face under the full light of noon. Dreams were easier to give up under a bright hopeful sky. Elizabeth walked in time next to him, and Jack felt his soul would be shredded by the time they reached the end.

"My boots are bloody full of sand," he said to break the silence. Elizabeth squinted at him, her eyes intense and full of life, full of passion, full of determination. A man could break himself to bits against her—she was strong, sure, in control. And King. Don't _forget that one, mate,_ Jack thought to himself. _Though ye know ye only did it to make sure she stays a pirate and doesn't go settling for a quiet life…_

"Maybe we should have gone barefoot," she said playfully, her hand brushing against Jack's. A thrill went down both of their bodies. His hand was warm, grasping; hers was cold with forced restraint.

"Last time we were on an island together, we were both barefoot," Jack said softly. The three figures shimmering in the heat before them were becoming dangerously close. He wanted to stop time—to stop their measured tread and run back to the safety of the cove. He didn't want to face destiny just yet, not now, not when he was still flying high over every look, every word, every touch of Elizabeth.

"I hope ye know what ye're doin', lass," Barbossa muttered, the only one among them who looked relatively at ease with their progression.

Elizabeth looked at Jack again. "If you meant what you said," she almost whispered, struggling through the damp sand, "if you mean to go through with it…"

"That I do." His voice was low. "And ye should take my advice about Turner."

Her face turned stony; he could sense the change in her posture. "If you suggest that one more time, Jack, I _will_ take your advice."

"Good."

Barbossa groaned audibly.

They were close enough to see their opponents' faces. Jones and Beckett… and there was Will, grim and guarded, with eyes only for Elizabeth. She was amazed how calm she felt under his accusing gaze… and how flustered she felt when Jack brushed his hand against hers once again.

"Jack," she managed to get out, "Whatever happens, just keep in mind that I'm not sorry." _Not sorry I kissed you at the mast, not sorry I risked everything to come and save you, not sorry about last night… not sorry about anything… except having to say goodbye…_

"Me neither, love." He understood, completely. He understood.

* * *

**The Present**

"Well, we just hadn't counted on Jack being alive. It does throw a wrench into things, so to speak."

Elizabeth found a bottle of whiskey on the shelf of the Captain's cabin and poured herself a glass. "I'm so sorry to muss your plans," she said sardonically.

"Certainly," Kit said, a hint of anger breaking through, "But we have to take care of it, you see. Take care of him."

"Good luck."

"It doesn't have to be this way, Elizabeth," he said, stepping forward persuasively. "I don't mean Jack has to die. I mean he has to be removed from the picture. See?"

"What picture?" Elizabeth swallowed another glass, deciding whiskey was vastly inferior to rum. Probably because she could hold her whiskey better… and the taste of rum meant the taste of Jack's lips…

"The Fountain of Youth. You come with us, see the adventure through, and then perhaps we'll get you pardoned."

"A pardon for the Pirate King? Unlikely."

"So realistic," Kit said wistfully. "But pardon or not, you'll have to come with us. You haven't really got a choice anymore. Things will go smoother for everyone if Jack Sparrow isn't around to meddle."

"What exactly are you saying, Kit?" Elizabeth swayed where she stood, suddenly tired. Thinking of sleep made her think of Jack—their bed in the cabin of the Pearl, their bodies entwined…

"Explain to him that you've changed your mind and decided to become immortal in order to stay true to your husband."

Elizabeth dropped the bottle, shattering the glass and soaking her nightgown with the remaining liquor. "I don't understand."

"Yes you do," Kit said wearily. "You choose immortality with William Turner, and he disappears to nurse his wounded pride."

"You mean, betray him and break his heart so that you can postpone your well-earned time with the devil?"

Kit flashed her a dazzling smile. "It sounds so harsh when you put it that way, Lizzie."

"Don't call me that," she said quietly.

"It's best for you both, really, in the end. Wouldn't you agree, my dear? After all, think back. Jack chose freedom. He was going to stab the heart. He wanted to sail the seas, _alone_, for eternity. After he'd gotten his fill of you, he sent you packing into the arms of your former fiancé. Or don't you remember?"

"I remember," Elizabeth said, her voice even softer than before. "It wasn't what you think."

"Wasn't it? He may have an honest streak, but deep down, he's a pirate. He doesn't know how to be faithful, he doesn't know how to _stay_. He'd only let you down."

"That's not true." The phrase was tremulous, pleading.

"Oh Lizzie…" Kit shook his head as if sorry. "You really are naïve. Let me tell you something. Your son has black eyes."

"Black eyes?"

"Black eyes. Black like Jack's. Dark skin, dark hair. And your husband, I believe, was English to his core."

Elizabeth said nothing, picturing Will's smooth pale skin, his light brown hair…

"Your son is also Jack's son, my dear. That's all there is to it. And the fact is, Jack knows."

"Jack knows?"

"Aye, he knows. He's known for some time… known, and said nothing to you."

"Why?" Elizabeth whispered aloud before she could stop herself.

"Isn't it obvious? Jack never wanted a child. Good lord, can you imagine him, giving up his precious freedom, his adventure, to provide for a poor unfaithful woman and her bastard son? It's laughable. It's like you don't know him at all." Kit looked at her with overdone pity. "He didn't say anything to you because he hoped by the time you found out, he could extricate himself from the situation. It's just something he would do."

No, no, no… not Jack, not the man she knew, not the man she loved. It couldn't be. But why hadn't he told her, why? Thoughts raced through her mind—she knew so little of Jack, so little of his true heart… He wasn't like Will, wasn't simple to understand or make sense of.

"Lizzie," Kit interrupted gently, "Come now. It's time to grow up and face the facts. A pirate is a pirate. Not a fairytale, not a prince, not a man to give your heart to."

"Stop it," she said, aware that tears were streaming down her face. She was ashamed of them. She hated that Kit had found her weakness. She hated that he was driving daggers into her most vulnerable places.

She thought of the intimate warmth of Jack's smile, all of his antics that so amused her, the wise and steady man she found him to be in secret moments just between them. And yet, unbidden, she remembered the way he had lied to her—lied about his own death, lied about visiting Will, not told her about their child…

"Why do you think Jack fetched me at the beginning of your little voyage? For company? I think not, Lizzie. He's had his own plans all along. Isn't it time you stopped pinning your survival on a lying criminal and started making your own choices?"

Her own choices. Hadn't fate taken over that job, almost completely? Elizabeth stood stricken, the heat of the whiskey burning her cheeks. Kit had chosen the wrong method of persuasion. Aye, Jack may be a lying criminal, but she loved him. Her pride, her doubts were cleared away. Would she love him if he were anything but what he was?

"Damn you, Charles Vane," Elizabeth said with venomous clarity. "Damn you to hell, you and your foul manipulative ways." She laughed suddenly, freely, strongly. "I would rather be a poor woman with a bastard son than turn my back on Jack Sparrow again. I love him. I love him, I trust him, and I would believe him over you a thousand times. I'll never lie to him for you. Never." She walked steadily forward until she was inches from his white, angry face. "Do what you like with me. I won't betray him."

Seconds ticked by. The clock on the wall documented them, made them loud and overwrought, ominous. Elizabeth dared not withdraw her eyes. Her heart was pounding, her skin was flushed. She had stepped off the plank, aye, she had. She didn't care.

At long last, Kit shrugged and moved back. "Very well. If you're certain."

"Quite certain."

Kit cleared his throat. "Perhaps you would like to tell Birmingham yourself then."

Birmingham walked into the room. In his arms he held a sleeping child, less than a year old, dark haired and beautiful. Elizabeth's heart stopped.

Kit twirled his pistol in his hand, stopping it when the barrel of the gun was inches from her son's head. Birmingham's lined face loomed above her, hideous and inescapable.

"You were saying, my dear?"

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21.**

_Thank you so much for all the reviews, and the my anonymous reviewers who I can't reply to, thank you! Sorry this took me so long. I'll have the next chapter up much faster. I thought it was high time for some humor here... _

* * *

The Judas kiss. That was what Jack had called it the last time she had given up his secrets. The kiss of the betrayer. How sweet, how infinitely sweet had been the kiss with which she betrayed him the first time! If the ocean itself could kiss, Elizabeth thought, it would kiss like Jack. Alone in a strange cabin of Birmingham's ship, she huddled against the narrow bunk and thought of her son, so close, so terribly close. He should be in her arms now, she should be comforting him when he cried. And yet, her mind kept drifting back to Jack, Jack whom she inexplicably loved, Jack whom she must betray. How many men had flitted in and out of her life, how many times had they vanished, stripping her dreams away until she was bare, hollow, seared into survival? For the sake of her son she would have to betray him yet again, send him away if by unhappy chance he came for her. And then what? Her lips curled. Then await the deepest circle of hell. It was terribly ironic that she had wasted so many precious minutes convincing him that she would never—could never—lie to him again.

She hadn't really expected Jack to stay. In the dark before dawn when she had watched him sleep, she had perhaps tried to remind herself who he was—a pirate, and more importantly Captain Jack Sparrow—fiercely independent, restless, drifting… he wouldn't stay, it would be cruel to ask if of him… rather like clipping the wings of a wild bird. And she had determined she wouldn't. It was enough, she reasoned, to sate herself upon him, revel in the unexpected closeness they shared and the moments he chose to give. Enough to dance with him on the deck of his beloved ship and share his adventures for a time. Enough because she had his child. Enough because she understood his soul.

"He's here!" It was Kit, arrived with knocking, exultant.

"Who?" she said dumbly.

"Who? Why Jack of course, you sweet ninny."

Elizabeth buried her face in her knees, wishing, wishing, aye, ready to sell her soul in only she could wake up out of this nightmare.

"Get up! Birmingham's in the next room with that black eyed babe and every sailor is armed and at attention."

"I'm not going to do it," Elizabeth said, though they both knew her words were hollow.

Kit rushed over and peeked out the door. "He'll find you here soon enough. He thinks he's been very clever, all that swimming and sneaking about. Poor fool! I always warned him not to fall in love."

"Kit, one day, I'm going to put the barrel of a gun down your throat and shoot until there aren't any bullets left," Elizabeth remarked.

"Elizabeth, I always knew you would get to like me in the end." He kept his ear trained to the door. "I'm getting in the cupboard and if I hear anything—I mean anything—that doesn't sound like betraying and arguing I'll come right out and shoot. Is that clear?"

"Rather. Though I doubt you'll fit."

Kit whirled her around and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Now's your chance, darling. Be a good girl, don't forget I can hear every word you utter, and your child is one room away with twenty guards at his side."

"People used to tell me I would have made a fine actress," Elizabeth smiled demurely. Oh she was trembling, her whole body contriving to collapse before it instrumented the betrayal. How she managed to look Kit in the eye (with what she hoped was a deathly glare) was beyond her.

"Yes," Kit said, "An actress or a working woman… same skills required for each."

Elizabeth smirked. "Else I would never have been able to make that fool agreement with you before."

Kit shook his head and climbed into the cupboard, making sure she saw his ready pistol.

Footsteps were heard in the corridor outside. The door slid open stealthily. A shadow appeared across the threshold. Heart pounding, Elizabeth couldn't move, couldn't gather her thoughts. What to do? How to possibly convince him…?

He stepped in. At the first sight of him, Elizabeth knew she wouldn't be able to lie to him to save anyone's life. It was impossible. She had to grind her feet into the floor to keep from throwing herself into his arms. He trusted her—had opened his mysterious depths to her, made himself vulnerable, put himself in danger. Hazarded his heart on a woman who was known to break them. And he was risking ship and freedom to save her now—two things that he needed, lived for. Brash, foolhardy, infuriating man—she loved him so much it hurt.

"Lizzie!" he whispered, crossing the room in the single bound. What a strange love—all rough edges and harsh realities, imperfect words and desire, and that look in his eyes that made the world irrelevant. At once she put her arm out to stop him, and he took a hasty turn around the empty room. "What is it?"

Elizabeth swallowed, fancying she could hear a pistol cock from the cupboard. She stepped back from Jack, positioning herself in front of Kit's hiding place and assuring he couldn't see through the slender crack of the door. Widening her eyes, she pointed behind her with meaning.

Jack looked confused. "No dress in the cupboard, is that it love?"

She shook her head furiously. This was going to be harder than she thought. "Captain Sparrow, I feel I should tell you that it is impolite to enter a room without knocking. You never know what you might be _interrupting_." She gestured with her head back to the cupboard.

"Interrupting?" he growled. "Was something going on between ye and the furniture, perhaps?"

She cleared her throat, ready at every second for disaster. She mouthed silently, "Kit is in the cupboard!"

Jack squinted and shook his head.

Louder, for Kit's benefit she went on, "What I mean to say, Mr. Sparrow—"

"_Captain_ Sparrow."

"Yes, _Captain_ Sparrow, is that sometimes you find yourself in a position you wouldn't expect—" she made a pointed face, "and you are forced to re-think your priorities."

"What are ye saying, Lizzie?"

She put her face in her hands in frustration. Behind her, there was a creak from the cupboard. Jack caught the noise and stepped closer, looked at her questioningly. She nodded and mouthed again, "Kit!"

"Kit?" he repeated aloud.

She shook her head frantically, as though to say, _not out loud!_

He got it… and quickly amended, "Ye're in love with Kit?"

"No," she replied, sweat on her forehead, "Though he is extraordinarily handsome." She said this last part loudly and towards the cupboard.

Jack rolled his eyes.

"What I mean to tell you, Captain Sparrow, is that I've decided to become immortal and stay true to Will." And then she winked at him with scalding blatancy.

Jack looked a bit lost. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Ye're lying, right?" and she nodded, pointing back to the cupboard and then putting a finger on her lips. He nodded again, beginning to understand the situation. "But Lizzie," he said with overdone emotion, "What about all those promises ye made me? What about telling me ye loved me?"

She almost laughed at the comical expression on his face. But, moistening her lips in a desperate effort to stay focused, she continued, "Didn't you know that a woman will say anything to get what she wants, Jack?"

He slammed his hand down on a table. "Oh damnable, heartless woman!" he bemoaned. And then, as though the action had really hurt him, he spun around and cursed under his breath. Elizabeth pursed her lips and wondered if Kit would buy this. What was that on his shoulder? Beneath his shirt—a bandage of some sort? Oh heaven, what trouble had he gotten into now? Elizabeth's mind ran over the possibilities—Barbossa not wanting to risk a rescue, conflict between the two ships, perhaps? Meanwhile, Jack was inching towards the door, indicating she should follow. She shook her head. He lifted his hands in question.

At that moment, the long wail of an infant was heard close by. Jack paused and listened, his face going white. He looked back to Elizabeth with wide eyes. She nodded in relief, drawing her finger across her throat while indicating the direction of the cry. Jack mouthed "Oh!" A noise was heard in the cupboard, and Elizabeth looked back frantically.

"So ye've betrayed me, is that it?" Jack said, quick as a jester.

"I'm afraid so," Elizabeth spat in return. The baby was crying again. Jack's face lit up, and he pointed to himself, pointed to her, and then twisted his arms like he was rocking a baby. She nodded, breaking out into a wide grin. She pointed to him and back to her again, mouthing, "Our baby!" Jack took a few waltzing steps about the room, clamping one hand over his mouth to keep from saying anything. It took all the self control in him not to seize Elizabeth in a giant hug. He finally stopped at one wall with his ear pressed against it, listening to the crying with a look of humorous joy on his face. Elizabeth cleared her throat, reminding him of their precarious position. Painfully he pulled himself away.

"I can't believe I ever trusted a spoiled, wealthy tart like ye!"

"Did you just call me a _tart_?" she cried.

"Aye, that I did, Mrs. Turner!"

She clapped her hands together, making a sound like a slap across the face. Jack caught on and moaned, lurching back. "Get out of here, _Mr_. Sparrow! I'm going to the Fountain of Youth alone, and if you dare follow me…"

"Ye only wish I would!" he shouted. "A man has some pride. I wouldn't go to the Fountain of Youth if it were the last place on earth left to pirates!"

She laughed silently, and then made an effort to pull herself together. "So," she said, wondering why all this pretending merely resulted in them both being louder than usual, "We have established you will _not_ be going to the Fountain of Youth by way of the Port of Augustine?"

"Aye, that's a fact," he replied with zeal. "I'll be pointin' my ship in the opposite direction, which by virtue of bein' opposite, is entirely and completely not where ye'd expect, and not where ye'd not expect either. I never want to see yer miserable face again, woman!"

"Good!" She looked around nervously. "Then get out of here before I call my new friends to blow your ship from the water." He took the hint. He moved toward the door with his unbalanced grace, and then came back, puckering his lips with a mischievous light in his eyes.

She looked back towards the cupboard, took a step towards him, heard a noise, and stopped. She shook her head. Jack gave her a pleading look with his black eyes. She stamped the floor in frustration, but had to content herself with blowing him a silent kiss. He lifted his bejeweled brown hand to his lips and blew one back, mouthing "I love you!"

She mouthed in return, "Keep a weather eye on the horizon…" and then shouted "Good riddance!" He bowed with a flourish, swinging open the door and then slamming it behind him, to great effect.

A few seconds of quiet ensued, interrupted only by the softening cries of Elizabeth's son. She collapsed into a chair, covering her face again as Kit cautiously opened the cupboard door and climbed out. She knew she ought to appear heartbroken, but how could one when one had just been in the presence of Jack Sparrow? _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, that was. And he had blown her a kiss, heard his son cry for the first time. Elizabeth rocked silently in her chair, trying to make her laughter into muffled sobs. Apparently it was working.

"There, there, my dear," Kit said, patting her shoulder lecherously. "You did the right thing."

Birmingham suddenly burst through the door, his steely gray eyes twisted in cynical delight. "Quite a performance. But the show's not over—Charles, you'll want to watch us blow his ship from the water."

"What?!" Elizabeth leaped up from the chair.

"That wasn't quite the bargain," Kit hedged.

"Doesn't matter," Birmingham said. "I don't keep bargains with pirates."

"But you can't!" Elizabeth cried.

"And why not, Pirate King?" Birmingham laced her title with as much mockery as he could muster. Elizabeth shivered and her hands went to her middle, old pain resurfacing in her mind.

_Think, Elizabeth, think!_ "Because if you kill him, you'll never find the treasure of Saint Croix… the water that can turn anything that touches it to gold…"

"I thought it didn't exist," Kit said with a frown.

"Aye, Jack kept it a secret all these long years," Elizabeth said, everything spinning in her mind, knowing she had to sell this to save his life.

"We've got his compass," Birmingham said, unimpressed. "We'll have access to it as soon as we choose."

"Nay!" Elizabeth said, and then slower, "Nay. The compass can't lead you to this treasure, honored Duke. It's off the edge of the map, and out of the compass's reckoning."

"Then how would Jack propose to get there?"

Elizabeth groped for an answer. Her father had been right all those years ago to tell her lying only led to more lying until one day you were caught in your net, unable to wiggle free. "The only way one can," she said, her voice surprisingly natural and steady.

Birmingham's face showed growing impatience. "Yes, and what way is that?"

"By following the map tattooed on his back." She smiled, pleased with her answer, and better pleased to remember Jack's captivating skin and the many inked images there.

Kit chuckled. "So bring him back on board and flay it off."

Elizabeth shot him a venomous look. "Not possible. He alone knows the password."

"The password?"

"Aye, the password!" Elizabeth felt like a cheap market salesman. "The secret words passed down from generations of pirate lords, taught only to one heir, sacred. And without them, you'd never make it through the bronze doors…"

Kit was looking at her, shaking his head, bemused and impressed. He at least knew she was lying through her teeth, but why wasn't he saying anything?

"If we don't kill him now, it's unlikely we'll catch him again," Birmingham said, and Elizabeth noted with utmost relief he seemed genuinely to believe her story. Any legend of water that could turn objects to gold was irresistible to the ambitious.

"Well, of course we still have the compass," Kit put in coolly. "Once we're immortal, we'll have plenty of time to track him down."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, but he kept his face straight. What was going on?

"Very well," Birmingham said. "But if we see so much as a black sail on our way to the New River, my patience won't last for any fabled gold water."

"Jolly good," Kit said, clapping his back. "Let's have a drink then, shall we? The air this time of year… you know. My throat is parched."

Birmingham nodded and went out, but Elizabeth grabbed Kit's hand.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "Whose side are you on?"

"At the moment?" he whispered back merrily. "Jack's under the protection of Calypso for the time being. I do love a good killing but I was not about to risk my own neck for it."

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_Coming soon... is Kit telling the truth? What happened to the Pearl and the Norfolk? And will they EVER get to that Fountain of Youth?! _


	22. Chapter 22

**Ch. 22.**

**Thank you, thank you for the lovely reviews. They make me very happy!**

**This story and my other, "Wrong Decision, Right Reasons" have been nominated for sparrabeth fanfiction awards at livejournal community Sparrabeth Seas. Pop by and vote if you care to! Many other fantastic fics have been nominated and are there for your reading pleasure as well. Cheers.**

**Disclaimer: "Shipshape and Bristol fashion" belongs to Ted and Terry. I was tremendously upset the phrase wasn't used in film 2.**

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The creak of the ship was unfamiliar, and Elizabeth couldn't sleep. She was used to the deep-headed, patient sounds of the Pearl on the water, almost a kind of purr, a kind of delight to be riding the waves toward the horizon. And this ship was a workhorse, doing its duty. Elizabeth ran her hands along the whitewashed wood, thinking of Jack's skin. Jack's mouth. Jack's teasing eyes. Her nights had been ruined forever. How could she lay alone on the narrow bunk when she ached for his arms around her, aye, even the rum on his breath? Her body was sweated for him, her mind a feverish tangle of need. _Bloody pirate,_ she thought irritably. _Not a speck of decency left in you. _

"Elizabeth?" There was a whisper at the door. "Are you awake? Are you decent?"

Elizabeth threw a pillow at the door. "I'm completely naked, Kit."

He charged in, and his face fell on seeing her nightgown. "Wench," he said, losing his politeness at once. He was drunk.

"What do you want?" she said, rubbing her eyes as though she had been sleeping. As if anyone could sleep with four guards at the door and doom at every corner… and Jack Sparrow mocking her from her imagination.

Kit stumbled to a chair and sat. "Jolly good night, isn't it?"

"For clawing your way through life with a smile."

"Don't be difficult, Lizzie," he paused. "You're a damn fine liar."

"I'm honored… such a compliment from the best…"

"Birmingham's getting restless. He's got the navy situation a few miles behind us, using the same wind. When we get to the river…"

"He wouldn't bring them all on land, surely?" Elizabeth dropped her veneer of weariness and became alert. "You're still a pirate, Kit. You don't want to be the last one left alive, do you?"

"Not for me the dreams of Jack Sparrow, sweetheart." He turned serious. "But either way, the last thing I want is to battle an immortal Birmingham _and_ his navy for the rest of my days. I'm looking out for myself, darling. My interests just happen to coincide with you and Jack's at the moment."

_Jack_. Elizabeth licked her lips, fighting a grin. "Kit, I don't trust you as far as I could throw you, but I have rather a worse enemy to deal with right now. Let's have an accord and get back to betraying each other later, savvy?"

Kit smiled unevenly. "I can see why he followed you. You're very… charming when you talk like a pirate, Lizzie."

"I'm really not comfortable with you calling her Lizzie." The voice was the voice of Jack Sparrow, directly behind the door.

"What in God's name…" Kit stumbled to the door, flung it open, and gawked at Jack Sparrow dressed head to toe in Royal Navy attire. He carried his old clothes in a bundle under one arm. Elizabeth groaned and buried her face in the bedcovers.

"Jack bloody Sparrow, I'm going to kill you."

"Hardly the welcome I was expecting, love."

"What in the name of all that's holy are you doing on this ship? Trying to get us both killed?"

He pouted. "It's like this, darlin'. I was back at the Pearl when Gibbs reported the Norfolk had gone off. Thought they'd get a head start to the Fountain, clear out before the fighting starts. And bob's your uncle, we came up with a plan." He wiggled his eyebrows. "A plan I don't intend to divulge before this scallywag. But don't ye worry. Everything's shipshape and Bristol fashion."

"No, it's not." Elizabeth stood up and faced him off. "They're going to find you, kill you, and where does that leave me? Twice widowed in a year?"

"Maybe it's time to go for a farmer next, love. Be a bit safer." His whole face was teasing and relaxed, deliciously carefree, beautifully dark… Oh, she loved his skin. It was impossible to stay angry. He whirled to Kit. "And ye! Ye're racking up a score faster than that Porter person. If we survive this, I'm going to have to kill ye, ye know."

"Not if I kill you first, Sparrow." He smiled congenially. "How many more bullets can you take, I wonder?"

Jack's smile faltered. "Get out of here, and keep your mouth shut. Savvy?"

Kit lurched and nearly fell. "Savvy," he said with heavy irony. "But don't count on my silence past breakfast. I become much less reasonable when I'm sober."

"And much less attractive," Elizabeth put in. The door shut behind them. "Jack, what about the guards?"

"Not to worry," he said lightly. "Just come here for a moment." He said down on the bed, and Elizabeth joined him. "I couldn't leave ye alone to them, Lizzie," he said quietly. "I couldn't help thinkin', they weren't to be trusted, maybe they'd do something… and if I weren't here…"

Elizabeth twisted one of his braids in amusement. "I'd fight them off myself, of course. I'm not a complete damsel, Jack."

"Aye, I know, I know… that's why I love ye so." He smiled wide, ambiguous and hidden in the shadows, a lone candle flickering on the table and revealing the years of his face. "But I've got a bit of swag here for ye to look at…" With the utmost care, he lifted the bundle in his arms and drew away one side. The face of a sleeping infant showed within.

"Oh!" Elizabeth gasped, the blood rushing to her face. "Oh, Jack…"

"We'll have to put him back before the guards wake up, but it were worth it, just to hold him for a bit. He's asleep, and I'd hate to think what he'd do if he were awake… likely put us out to open sea."

Elizabeth wasn't listening. Jack awkwardly slid the bundle into her arms and Elizabeth held it against her heart, feeling the warmth of the child's body, the steady breathing. Her son. Her child, hers and Jack's. Beautiful beyond anything she could have imagined… all the pain of the past seemed to vanish as she held him, everything in her life felt vindicated, worthwhile, all her mistakes forgiven. Tears sprang at her eyes, but she swallowed them back. "Jack, this was very dangerous…"

"He's… he's something special, ain't he, Lizzie?" Jack's face was eager, his hand tracing his son's features shyly. "He's an awfully good little thing. Heavy sleeper, too."

Elizabeth leaned across the baby and brushed his nose with her own. "I'd have sworn away my life I'd never say this to a despicable pirate like you, Jack, but I couldn't imagine life any other way than this. Wouldn't want it any other way."

"I'm glad," he said, mischief in his eyes. "Ye might regret it one day, though…"

"Not today," Elizabeth said. A few moments passed, and her son was quiet in her arms, peaceful, trusting. She could hear his heartbeat. "So…" she said softly, clearing her throat, "Now what do we do?"

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Ye mean with a baby?" He shrugged. "Damned if I know. Ye're the woman here."

Elizabeth frowned. "Well I don't know any more about it than you. I've never had one before."

"I suppose ye hold it and feed it and play with it…"

"All the time?"

"Except when it's sleeping, maybe."

Elizabeth's face tightened. "Bother, Jack, I haven't got the slightest, no one ever told me how to…"

"Ye really should have thought of that before seducing me to yer bed, love."

"_I _seduced _you_?" her voice became a bit shrill, and Jack hushed her. She tried again, softer, "You've got a lot of nerve, Jack."

"Aye," his face was alight with laughter, as it had been all night. "That I do, love. Part of me nature." He kissed her forehead. "But there's nothin' to worry about yet. We've got to put him back now, back with his midwife and army of guards. We can sort out the joys of havin' a child later, alright?"

Her hold on the child grew tighter. "Promise we'll get him back?"

Jack put his face an inch from hers. "Cross my heart. Though I don't know what we'll do with him then."

She giggled. "Start him on a strict diet of rum and biscuit, first of all, so he can grow up just like his father."

Jack winced. "Calling me father makes me sound rather old, Lizzie. What if we just stuck to our normal names, eh?"

"Jack, I meant to tell you…" she peered down at her son's face, the tiny nose and the wide set eyes, his tiny curled fingers, "I don't expect you to stay. I never expected you to—wouldn't ask it of you. Give up your freedom, I mean. I can manage fine, if we make it through this…"

"Manage?" his face darkened, grew blank. "Manage, Lizzie? I daresay ye can."

"Good, then we won't fuss about it when the time comes."

"I fear ye misunderstood me, Miss Elizabeth." His voice had turned threatening. "I will stay as long as I want, and there will be not a word of arguing from ye on that subject, savvy? Do ye think I would trust a known criminal—a pirate—to raise me only precious son? Pish posh, darlin'. Ye won't get off that easy."

"Ah," she shook her head, leaned back against the whitewashed walls. "I think I might love a pirate."

"Me too," Jack said in his characteristic growl. "Now I'll just put him back, and we can carry on talking and doing whatever else comes into our heads…" He slid off the bed, the baby in his arms.

"Jack, what about a name for him?"

"What about it? William?"

She bit her lip, swallowed her annoyance. "Very amusing, Jack."

"Ye think a common pirate has got a name lined up? I could barely name a ship. And we can't very well call him Black Pearl."

"Never mind," she laughed. "I'm sorry I ever mentioned it."

He flashed her a roguish smile and disappeared behind the door, slithering back a moment later. Elizabeth was already missing her son. "Now," he said. "Where were we?"

"Arguing about something, as usual," she returned. "But I've thought of a name." She whispered it into his ear.

"Ye're daft, love. Absolutely daft." He tilted his head. "Though it's a clever ploy." He ran his hand down her neck, along her collarbone, and she shivered.

"I was laying here dreaming you'd come."

"Ye're wish is my command, as ever, yer majesty," he said, his voice deepening as he leaned over her on the bed. "Just name yer desire…" his breath was hot against her cheek, lips hungry and close, "and I'll fulfill it."

She pulled his head down and dissolved into his kiss, her body pressed tightly against his. A thousand desires, all carefully stored inside her since she had first felt the earthy brush of his skin on her own, since she had first dreamed of those lusty black eyes… He knew her with uncanny expertise, knew where to touch, knew what to say. The rush and the heat between them was brutal, flagrant as the ocean. "Keep your mouth on mine," she panted. "Or I might give us away…" His weight against her body was already breaking apart her mind, unleashing her to a ravenous storm of desire and bliss…

The door suddenly creaked open and Kit practically ran in. He promptly covered his eyes with his hand. "Bloody animals," he muttered. "Pull yourselves together. We've got a situation."

Elizabeth pushed Jack away and he grimaced—she had hit his shoulder. Blood began seeping through the bandage. _Bugger_. "Haven't we always got a situation, Vane? Can it wait, for God's sake?"

Kit crossed his arms. "No it can't. Birmingham's had a look at that compass and is wondering why it's pointing to somewhere on his own ship." Footsteps were heard in the hall. "He's wondering why it's pointing to this very cabin."

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	23. Chapter 23

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**Chapter 23. **

**I'm sorry this took me so long... this last week has been busy. Thank you greatly for all the reviews, and to my anonymous reviewers also, thank you very much! It helps me keep going. Cheers! **

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Jack looked at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked at Jack.

"This is all your fault!" They both said at once.

"You couldn't let well enough alone," Elizabeth continued fervently.

"Ye couldn't somehow steal the compass in your spare time here, eh?" Jack snapped back.

Kit made a noise of frustration in his throat. "Can you talk about this later? We've got a pirate king and pirate lord—by rights Birmingham only needs one of you alive."

"Jack—the cupboard!"

"Aye, not a single dress in there. We've established that."

"Get in!" Elizabeth hissed, as footsteps grew louder in the hallway. She pushed his head down and practically threw him inside, and he cursed back at her. "Now keep quiet!"

The door handle rattled. Kit looked around wildly and then grabbed Elizabeth and began kissing her. The door swung open.

"Charles!" Birmingham cried.

"Charles!" Elizabeth repeated, slapping him across the face. She lurched back and leaned against a wall. "Thank God you arrived when you did, Duke. He might have proven too strong for me."

Kit was fingering his red cheek with a wry grin. "I almost certainly would have."

"What the devil is going on here?"

"I don't know what to say," Kit said, immediately contradicting himself by continuing, "It's like this. I had a drop too many, and remembered I had a grievance with the King here. So I came to square it, and one thing led to another, and…"

"Charming, Vane," Birmingham countered icily. He studied the open compass in his hand, and Elizabeth practically leaped in front of the cupboard. Kit took the hint.

"My, my, my Henry… this is an unexpectedly romantic turn of events. You want the girl too? Well seniority rules, I suppose. She's yours."

"Me? Want the girl?" Birmingham clicked the compass shut. "Impossible."

"Not probable," Elizabeth put in, batting her eyelashes innocently. "But don't say impossible."

"This ship has experienced a complete and total lack of control since we brought you aboard," Birmingham spat at her. "We left Jack Sparrow alive, much to my chagrin, but logic invariably whispers to me that with _him_ approaching the fountain, why not have done with _you_?"

Kit and Elizabeth glanced around the room, as though the answer was written on the walls.

"Well," Kit launched, "Safety, for one thing. Suppose Jack Sparrow hits a reef, or succumbs to scurvy. We'd be up a creek, as they say. And second, magic itself has revealed your heart might want her alive for… other reasons."

"Magic," Birmingham scoffed. He paused and peered down at the compass once more. And then, with a turn of his mouth, he shoved Elizabeth aside from the cupboard and flung it open. Jack Sparrow tumbled out.

"Hello Henry," he said cheerfully. "Not a very good hiding place, eh?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Sparrow—"

"_Captain_!"

"Very well, _Captain_ Sparrow… this cupboard has become rather invaluable tonight. Though I can't understand why you returned. I practically trumpeted a horn to announce your safe departure."

"I… forgot me hat!" Jack produced the hat from his bundle of clothes and held it out.

"I'm really beginning to think you're all in league," Birmingham said, turning his attention to Kit. "And while it makes no difference to me if I kill three famous pirates instead of two, I am curious why you jumped ship, Vane."

"Jumped ship?" Vane said incredulously. "After all I've done for you? How could you accuse me of such a thing?"

"What have ye done for him?" Jack asked with a dangerous glare.

"Charles and I go way back," Birmingham said, tipping his chin. "Who do you think found me this Pirate King to begin with? I would have had you all then, if she hadn't escaped. But luckily Vane's hard work didn't go totally to waste—I got her child, of which she seems to be unnaturally fond."

"Kit?" Elizabeth questioned, low. Jack had murder in his eyes. Yet there was no time to react, not yet.

"It's all worked out quite well," Birmingham said. "Now I have Captain Sparrow alive as regards the Fountain of Youth, and I can proceed killing her as I always wanted."

"Well that's just silly," Jack said quickly. "If ye're going to keep just one of us alive, it definitely should be her. I mean, look at her, mate!"

"Yes but you've got the map and the password for the treasure of Saint Croix, haven't you?"

Jack looked puzzled for a split second, but after all, he was Jack Sparrow. "Well, obviously, there's that. But she's got the whereabouts of every pirate lord in the world, mate. Not to mention the keys to Shipwreck Cove, full rights of the legendary pirate code, the loyalty and obedience of thieves and beggars alike… the list goes on and on."

"So I can hear."

"I mean, it's almost like between the two of us, we've got everything ye could ever need for becoming Lord Chancellor or whatever it is ye want in life. _Comprende_?"

"She wouldn't talk before. Why would I waste time questioning her again?"

Jack gave her a thump on the back. "Oh, she'll talk alright. Won't ye, Lizzie?"

"Like a parrot, Duke," she said.

* * *

"Uncanny, that's what I call this," Gibbs muttered, squinting against a dusky evening fog. "An ill wind…"

"That blows no good," Barbossa finished sardonically behind him. "Just steer the ship, Mr. Gibbs, and leave the magic dealings to your betters."

"Jack's gonna be none too pleased to hear about the _Norfolk_, mark me words. Between that Porter boy and his undead lass… well, I just worry what will happen if they reach the Fountain before us, block our way or even turn us over to the likes of the Royal Navy…"

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye."

"How _does_ Jack live with ye? Do ye ever shut up?"

"Not often," Gibbs confessed. "But then, Jack drinks more than you do, if you understand me…"

"It's the only possible explanation for why he paddled back to the Duke in the first place. Foolish lad. I'm afraid smooth talking and brash bargains won't do much against the likes of Birmingham." Barbossa's jutting profile showed the slow work of time across his face—time and worry, two things even pirates couldn't avoid. How long had he spent warring against Jack? Not quite as long as he had spent in his company, that was for sure. And warring him or partnering with him—either was a far sight better than trying to outdo or escape these waves of civilization that kept sweeping across the sea. They couldn't hold them off forever, could they?

"Seems to me this Fountain is proving more danger and trouble than its worth," Gibbs was saying under his breath, calloused hands loose on the Pearl's spokes, comfortable. "Sometimes I wish…"

"Wish what, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Wish it had never been… or that those charts had gone down with that Beckett. Too much at stake now." He paused and left off, shaking his head. "But as ye say, none of my concern."

* * *

"There it is," John Porter whispered, his gaze wavering through the cracked glass of a telescope. Marta didn't look up. Why couldn't she understand that John had done what he must to save her, and save himself? It wasn't mutiny if it was for survival… was it? And the few crew mates he had managed to persuade along were certainly anxious to have their treasure and be off before the remaining half of the Royal Navy bore down on the region. So the _Black Pearl_ followed them—that they could manage. Jack wasn't with them, having gone back for the Pirate King. Porter smiled. There was one trick he was proud to have picked up—lying, rousing fear… and a few words reminding Mr. Gibbs about the cruelty and unpredictability of Birmingham trickled directly to the peculiar Captain. It had been simple, really.

"What would it be like to be loved so obsessively by someone…" Marta murmured, her knees drawn up to her chest. She was so changed… when John looked at her, he fancied he could see in her eyes the face of the Dutchman's Captain.

"You are loved obsessively by someone," he said, a bit injured. The night seemed interminable, their journey a twisted nightmare speckled with tantalizing hope.

"Someone like Jack Sparrow," she said, unaware of how her words must pain him. "He can't be real, I think."

"Undoubtedly, a descendent of the gods," Porter spat. But he softened again, softened as he always did, as he always would. "Marta, I thought you told me…"

"That I love you?" Her eyes were wide and blank as a summer sky. "Aye, I meant it John, I meant it. But I can't help thinking… can't help feeling somehow, that we don't matter. That we scheme and we plan, but destiny is on _their_ side. No matter what we do, they'll win in the end."

"It isn't true," he said woodenly. The ship jolted as it skimmed a rock, and then glided onward into the estuary, upriver. The sea was left behind. Haze enveloped them. The smells changed, the feel of the air, close pent and damp, cold. Constricting.

"I can see the Castillo," Marta said suddenly, her earlier words forgotten. She jumped to her feet and swung her legs over the rail, leaning far out. "I can see it! The Spanish are there."

"Will they let us pass, do you think?"

"Not if we're pirates," she laughed.

So they wouldn't let pirates pass. John Porter smiled. There was more than one way to kill a sparrow, after all.

* * *

Kit sat alone in the brig, musing on his most recent encounter with the Pirate King and her Pirate Lord. A tricky pair they were—a bit too clever, and too ingenious for their own good. But all their spouting lies wouldn't be enough to buy their lives from Birmingham, that was certain. That was the trouble with these two. They were a little too pure. Believed a little too deeply in the lives they had chosen to live. Wanted freedom a little too much. And it would cost them. They would draw the line somewhere, refuse to sell out a friend or a father, run out of lies to cover their trail… and then Birmingham would load his shotgun and end it. The likelihood of them making it to the Fountain of Youth was slim. The likelihood of them surviving beyond it was none.

"So Charles, it came to that, did it?"

Kit stood and turned to greet Jack's swagger and sly grin, but the man who faced him was burning with an almost diabolical vehemence. His steps were measured, and they were muffled in the store room. And Kit realized he was afraid.

"Ye sold her—her, a woman who'd never hurt ye…" Jack's hands shook, his voice faltered. "Did ye see what he did to her? Taking her child… did ye see her scars?"

Kit shivered, though there was no draft. "The boy is safe… she'll have him back…"

"But will she have back the last year, the months she spent—" Jack swore harshly. "Will she be able to forget… ever?"

"She's a pirate," Kit said desperately. "She chose her own fate. You'd have done the same…"

"Would I?" Jack wrapped his fingers around the bars, and Kit had never before been so afraid of anyone. "Would I?" he demanded.

"It's very, very complicated." Kit's voice was barely a whisper now. "For a man to survive…"

"Aye," Jack said, letting go of the bars, stepping back. "Aye. Ye did what ye had to do."

Kit blinked.

"And now I'm doin' what I have to do." Jack shoved the barrel of a gun between the metal, aimed it with deadly precision at Kit's heart. "Savvy?"

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_**More to come soon!**_


	24. Chapter 24

**Ch. 24**

**Time surely flies. But I promise, after I finish my finals this next week, I'll be able to update constantly and quickly... THANK YOU for the reviews, SO MUCH!!**

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"She got you wrapped around her finger, eh? You, the legendary Jack Sparrow. The one we all looked up to. The one who taught us what freedom was. Is that it? You're here to sell out an old friend to prove something to your woman?"

_His woman._ What a delicious, impossible phrase! His woman… Elizabeth… the governor's daughter, impulsive and tantalizing… could it ever be true? That she would belong to him, that he might belong to her… be her man? The gun drooped as he mused.

"This is just a fact of life, Jack," Kit continued, his voice gaining strength. "Nothing worth killing over. You fire that, Birmingham's men will be on you in an instant. You can pretend to cooperate, but that doesn't mean they trust you."

Trust. Jack thought about the tiny wrinkled hands of his son, the weight of the child in his arms. Asleep, completely at peace. Trusting. And his hands had grown gentle, his feet graceful, everything conspired to protect the boy. Life had become suddenly, exponentially complicated and wonderfully better.

"Jack, do be logical. How long could this last? A few months… maybe a few years? And then what? The wind will call, the sea will flare up and you'll be off. You know you will. Jack Sparrow doesn't stay shackled to anyone or anything—not treasure, not beauty, and certainly not love."

Love. He had told her he loved her. He was suddenly very happy about that. Happy that she knew, for all their bickering. They would learn how to say it better—aye, they would. He'd learn how to love her better. Learn how to give her a dress the proper way, to dance, to kiss her fingertips and open the doors for her. But instead of a dress his next gift to her would be a decent pistol, since hers had been lost. She had remarkably good aim, steady hands.

"Jack, there isn't enough rum in the world to convince me you could stay."

"You're absolutely right, mate."

Relief swooped across Kit's face. "Course I am."

"No possible way I'd stay, surely. I'll be sailing within a month."

Kit tried to restrain the victorious smile tugging at his lips.

"Indeed, I'll be sailing. And she'll be with me. Her and the boy." Jack returned to gun to its aim. "Ye see, Kit, ye failed to understand her. She's never asked me to stay, because she couldn't stay herself. She's a pirate."

_Aren't we all,_ Kit thought wearily, seeing his mistake.

"But," Jack said, the murder in his eyes cooled, "Ye've reminded me of my manners. No honor in killing a wretched prisoner like yerself."

"That's the truth!" Kit blurted.

"I can afford to be patient, mate. Bide my time until we can both pick up a sword and do this proper. Good form, and all that. Savvy?"

If there was one thing Kit knew about Jack Sparrow, it was that he didn't play by the rules. Ever. Something else had sparked Jack's memory or imagination. Something that would likely bode ill for him. Kit drew his fingers restlessly through his hair, thinking that, despite the circumstances, he could do with a shave. "Savvy."

* * *

The Norfolk huddled its bulk into the shade of a few grasping blackgum trees just out of sight of the Castillo. Sunrise glittered on the river, over the freshwater the sailors were so unused to and the brisk morning air they couldn't abide. Noise from the town flitted here and there, the scrape of a cart's wheels along brick, the regular guards firing at the fort, voices haggling over a price. After weeks on the open sea, it was a bit overwhelming.

"I bet it's warmer in Port Morgan," John said, adjusting a rope from the sails.

"Aye," Marta said. Her shawl was worn and almost worthless against the chill. "In Port Morgan, you forget there's such a thing as winter."

They smiled at one another. "We're getting close… to that Fountain, and all."

Marta nodded silently. It didn't matter, really… they would be forced to wait until one of the Lords or the King arrived. Nothing could be done before that except the task of finding the way through the jungle. "Should we make a try for it?"

"We'll wait until noon," John assented. "No sense testing our luck on cross soldiers awake too early." And no sense warning the Castillo of nearby pirates until they really were nearby…

* * *

"This can't go on forever, Jack."

"I know, love."

"It can't go on much past a day or two…"

"I know, love." He stood behind her, arms draped around her slender shoulders.

"I'm going to run out of things to confess. I just hope you have a plan."

"Love, tell me something."

He could feel her smile in the way her skin warmed, the way her head tilted back slightly. "Very well."

"Who am I?"

"It's beyond the guess of any man to know." Her smile had deepened.

"Well, I'll tell ye (though ye aren't any _man_ at all, and it's certainly within yer guess)… I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

She turned to face him, a snick of a grin burning on her cheeks and in her roving, arousing (and pretty) fingers. "Are you?" she whispered in pretended surprise. "The same Jack Sparrow whose secret grand adventures include lying a beach drinking rum, being tricked by a governor's daughter after drinking too much rum, and being chased by fearsome rocks in a desert?"

"Chased by rocks?" His grip tightened a bit threateningly. "How'd ye know about that?"

She pressed her lips against his quickly to keep from laughing, teasing his mouth open and shivering at the heat that invaded her mind. "You talk in your sleep," she murmured when they pulled apart to breathe.

"Ye're the one to blame for those fearsome rocks," Jack growled. "Why, I've had secret grand adventures ye couldn't believe for a barrel of rum…"

"Well," she returned pragmatically (and he realized how much he liked the pragmatic part of her, the sailor that kept alert in the midst of difficulties), "Please do pull one out of that famed hat of yours, Captain Sparrow, or we'll both find ourselves chased by rocks… and this time with no one to rescue us."

"Love, don't ye trust me at all?"

"That hasn't got anything to do with trust," she said impertinently. "There's a baby involved now, Jack. We can't just flit around, risking our lives for a sonnet."

He thought she sounded humorously akin to a little girl playing house. "Whyever not, darlin'? The baby's been doing right fine without us."

"Jack!"

"I'm only teasing ye, sweet dear mother of me only child."

Her mouth twitched. "You ever say that phrase again, Sparrow, and I'll run you through. I may have a baby but that does not make me any less Pirate King than I ever was. Is that understood?"

"I'm in terror of me life, darlin', really. Wouldn't dream of disrespectin' ye." One of his hands was clasped around the small of her back, the other holding her neck as he drew her against his body. "Now just ye trust old Jack to come up with a plan and keep rememberin' imaginary pirate lords to betray, all right?"

Dimly she thought that this was how her life was always meant to be. Even when she was a little girl, destiny had shoved her irrevocably in this direction—toward adventure, toward danger… toward him. Every breath was dependent on the nimbleness of wit, every moment of peace countered by months of flurried action… and with him, they were both fighting the same fight. Struggling, wrestling to keep their grasp of freedom while locked tight in the other's arms. It was vaguely absurd and exactly right. What would happen in the wrestling stopped… if they found themselves left in tranquility in a little house, with nothing to do but raise a child and grow old? _We'd kill each other, obviously,_ Elizabeth thought with a faraway smile.

The sun was rising, slinking across the dirty sill and casting shadows on their tired faces. Jack pressed his nose against the glass, his fingers unconsciously mimicking the wind of a compass. "Can't be far now. If Gibbs can play it clever for a day, they might just do this company in."

"And then what? We spend our lives running from the Royal Navy?"

"Ye sort of made that decision when ye led the pirates at the Cove, darlin'." He blinked in the growing light and sat down, Indian style, on the floor. "But trust me to arrange things better than that. If we can clear this bit…" a mere smile was enough to finish his sentence. She sat herself next to him and rested her head on his shoulder, the fabric of his worn jacket tickling her nose. Jack wrapped one arm around her for warmth. "Just ye have a sleep then, love. I'll ring the Duke for tea."

"Tea?" Elizabeth yawned. "Whatever would we do with tea?"

"Darlin', if ye're wanting rum, do _try_ to be civilized. It's barely seven in the morning."

* * *

The walk across the beach was one of the longest of Marta's life. She and Porter lurched and stumbled like drunkards, unable to steady themselves on solid ground. And always the fort loomed up against an eerily blue sky, portending an old forgotten world of powers they had left to chase freedom.

"I don't like this plan," Marta said through clenched teeth. Six or seven soldiers called to one another in Spanish about the lookout, and a few gathered ahead of the gate. "We're supposed to be working with the pirates, not against them."

"Pirates don't work with each other, they work alone, for themselves. I'd bet my last doubloon if we let that Barbossa along he'd have us shot before we had a sip of the Fountain. And of course, there's the navy to consider."

"We can't have a taste without Jack Sparrow," Marta reminded him.

"Or Elizabeth Turner," John reminded her right back. "So the fort takes down the Pearl, captures Birmingham's ship and locks them all up. We sneak in, grab one of the lords, make our way through the jungle and suddenly, we're immortal and have got rid of fellow mutineers in the process." Though of course, John didn't mean mutineers so much as protectors of the Pirate King. If she was once again left vulnerable, William Turner wouldn't give up his post. And if he didn't give up his post, Marta was free. When had he become so desperate to save her? What was it that drove him onward on this fool's errand, hardly sure of his goal, growing in belief all the time that he had already lost Marta and could never really get her back again? Pirates and legends and a life lived across a knife… it was all more than he could fight, and would always be more than he could remedy.

She was looking at him with that uncanny darkness, something picked up through death. Almost as if she knew what he was planning.

Under his breath he muttered, "I'm only doing this for you, Marta."

* * *

"Lower the colors!"

"Captain Barbossa, I hate to remind ye, but lowering the colors won't do much against our reputation. The whole ship's black."

"Thank ye for yer insightful input," Barbossa hissed.

Gibbs shrugged and ordered the flag down. Mid-afternoon and the sky was a swath of purple linen, heralding another storm. And Gibbs was trying to remind himself of all the dangers he'd lived through. "It looks like that Norfolk beat us along these straights," he said absently, the stone Castillo a grim heading before them.

"Then we're expected," Barbossa smiled.

As if in response, a canon suddenly cut across the short distance and the rail of the stern exploded, scattering the crew. Another bit into the hull and more sent the water leaping around them like a maelstrom.

Gibbs barely had time to reply bitterly, "Aye, we're expected," before the thundering rip of the canon fire sent his body careening from the Black Pearl and deep into the River's fresh water.

* * *

_More to come soon... _

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

**Ch 25.**

**Sincere apologies for all the time it's been. At last, I finished finals and my spring semester is over, so the summer will leave me a lot more time for fast updates! Thank you so very much to all my reviewers, you are all so lovely and I can't tell you how delighted and honored I am by your encouragement! I feel badly but I can't remember whether I replied to the last chapter's reviews… suffice it to say, you all are wonderful and I love hearing from you!**

**A/N: No, I probably couldn't kill Gibbs even if I wanted to… what would we do without him? Though, it has been a long time since I've killed anyone…**

* * *

"Bring her about and let those Spanish pigs taste her guns!" Barbossa bellowed at his staggered crew. "And get a few men in the nest with loaded weapons!"

"Sir, we're taking on the Castillo?" Old Weatherby questioned in alarm as a shoved a ramrod down his rifle.

"Certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" Barbossa said with gruesome cheer.

"First mate's gone over!" Marcos suddenly called from the rigging, as explosions nearly rocked him from his precarious foothold. "Quarter astern!"

Barbossa's brow knit noticeably from amidst the turmoil. He lumbered across the deck, seizing a rope. "Mr. Gibbs!" He shouted to the boiling waves. No answer aside from a spray of gunfire; they were coming into closer range now, and could hear the excited Spanish dialogue from the ramparts. A brisk (almost cold, Barbossa thought) wind had gathered and fanned out the Pearl's sails like a great winged crow heralding destruction. With another nod to Weatherby, Barbossa swung across the rail and climbed down the ladder, feeling his age in his tightening joints and protesting muscles. "Mr. Gibbs! Damn you, are you drowned?"

A few bits of debris passed, and Barbossa got wet to the knees as his crew let loose another round of fire. Sounds of dismay came from the beach; cheering from the pirates. Then Barbossa saw what he was looking for: a bedraggled head of graying hair, a loose necktie floating above. Barbossa snatched the man just as he went under again, hauling him over his shoulder and struggling to keep his grip on the ladder.

"We've blasted their watchtower, sir!" Weatherby croaked joyfully from above.

"Well the battle's practically over then, eh?" Barbossa returned with deep irony. "For God's sakes, take this heaving pile of blubber off me and get him below decks."

"Alive, sir?" Fenwick asked hopefully, as he and Marco pulled a very immobile Mr. Gibbs into a sopping heap on the deck.

Barbossa shrugged and shook the water from himself, yanking his hat down further to hide his face as he crossed to the helm. "Ye'd better ask yer lucky stars that he might be, for all yer sakes!" he called back menacingly.

* * *

"We require tea and our child, thank ye very much," Jack said with overdone dignity to the lackey who swung open the door.

"And muffins or toast of some kind," Elizabeth whispered to him.

"And muffins and toast with jam, thanks very much," Jack repeated, louder. The lackey nodded in rather a subservient manner and turned to leave, then paused.

"Sorry, you said tea and toast and… your child?"

"Aye," Jack smiled. "Me son. Asleep in the next room probably, with all the guards and fuss. But it's silly to keep him over there when he could be learning the fine art of lying, cheatin', and betrayin' from his old dad in here. Savvy?"

"Right," the lackey said, very young and clearly taking notation his head. "Tea, toast, son."

"And jam!" Jack said. "By all that's sacred, don't forget the jam!"

"Of course, right… jam!" The lackey ducked out the door, repeating the list to himself and leaving Jack and Elizabeth laughing on the floor.

"Didn't I tell ye to sleep, love?"

"How can I sleep with all this taking of orders?" Elizabeth rubbed her neck with one hand, mentally concocting a few more pirate lords to rat out.

"We don't know how long this cozy friendship here will last… thought it best to make the most of it." Jack got to his feet and trained his gaze out the window, as he had been doing for most of the hour since dawn broke. "I don't quite know how to say this, but I'm running out of plans."

"You?" Elizabeth mocked. "Don't you just make it up as you go?"

"I'm insulted, darlin'. This—" he indicated himself proudly—"doesn't just _happen_! It takes careful studying of methods and minds, artful and dare I say genius plans so complex ye couldn't believe it if ye tried…"

"Yes and you've successfully survived every danger that's come your way."

"Every danger but one," Jack corrected her with a wistful smile.

"Yes," she repeated softly, "all but one. Sorry to break your stride there."

"Twice and even thrice forgiven, love. One kiss would've done it, ye know."

"For you, maybe," she replied. "All the rest was… necessary for _me_."

"And there'll be more where _that_ came from, mark me words," he added, his black eyes ablaze, adoring, lustful. He turned his back to her again, and she felt the fatigue, the tension of his body. "I can't think," he muttered. "The stakes are too high, this time."

"You've nearly lost your life any number of times, Jack."

"Aye, but…" he shifted his weight, hesitated, and Elizabeth understood when he paused like that, it had something to do with her. "At any rate, me own life's taking a few other lives into consideration now."

"I know how you feel," she whispered. "It's very, very…"

"Complicated."

"And yet…"

"Strangely exhilarating."

"But still I can't help thinking…"

"What might have happened if ye'd stood yer ground with me at the Cove?"

"Or if what happened after the Cove hadn't happened at all…"

"And I were…?"

"And I was settled with…"

"And we'd never had…" Jack scrunched his face and shuddered a little. "Well thank heaven for fate and all that. If I were religious, I'd light a candle every morning and do ten Hail Marys."

Elizabeth burst into laughter at the thought, then quieted herself. "It's very wrong to say so… but I suppose, it wasn't really our fault."

"Did everything we could. Literally."

"Well, there were some things that we could have _not_ done."

"Don't ye know yerself at all, love? Don't ye know _me_?" His face set in this enigmatic grin. "It was going to happen, one way or the other."

"You really think so?" she challenged.

He seized her hands and drew her up roughly, bring his mouth within an inch of her face and then just barely grazing her skin with his nose, his lips. The heat and proximity erased their weariness at once, and Elizabeth felt that rushing thrill down her back, that overpowering loss of awareness of anything but him. "Maybe not," he whispered, his breath on her ear, hands strong against her back, tightening on her hips and then wrenching her tight against him so that she moaned. "Maybe we'd have stayed… _friends_." His mouth opened onto her neck and she arched, aligning to his chest, trembling with desire.

"Yes, probably," she managed to murmur before their lips finally met and he invaded her mouth, not teasing but hard and fast, a tidal wave. Everything was becoming hazy, everything but him. "Jack, we can't…"

He broke away, his breathing ragged. "We're pirates, aren't we?"

She couldn't resist returning to his mouth, returning for one more taste. "Always, Captain Sparrow."

Jack loosened his hold and put his arms around her comfortably instead. "Ye're very, very soft, Lizzie. And yer skin tastes like…" he leaned forward and put out his tongue to her neck again, as though savoring a vintage… "eh, can't quite decide. But it's better than rum."

"There are many things better than rum," she objected.

"Better than the sea."

"Very few things better than that." She rewarded him with another smile. "I wonder how the others fare."

He was looking out the window again, his attention caught by the horizon and the memory of his ship. "The Pearl," he said, his full meaning contained in that word alone. "Hope she's managing. That blaggard Barbossa probably overloaded her cargo hold or didn't raise sail proper. She's quite finicky about that."

"Don't suppose they can help us much now…" Elizabeth trailed off, hearing footsteps down the hall.

"Not until we reach land."

* * *

"We need a new plan!" Fenwick cried, risking the Captain's fury. The sail was limp behind a dead gust and the crew moved slowly at their stations. "We can't keep taking hits like this. We'll founder when the tide goes out."

Barbossa let a murderous look fall on the boy and the quartermaster, whose chief crime was being too close. "Well, have ye got a better plan?"

"Actually," Fenwick stammered, "I do. Sort of. It's been tried and worked beautifully before."

"By whom?" Barbossa growled.

"By the Greeks, at Troy."

* * *

_Coming Up: The Pirates play Greeks, Birmingham eats all the jam, Kit makes a stunning escape and someone else makes a stunning reappearance... _


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Why on earth are you all so fabulous to stick with me? I don't even know how long it's been—living situation suddenly required me to be very busy and domestic of late… but really, I love this story and I am very excited about what's coming up for it, so all I can do is say thank you and I will do my best to hurry along. Hugs and kisses!**

* * *

An unnaturally warm dusk had come to the Castillo, throughout which soldiers and servants slept in uneasy fits, the few guards atop on high alert after the morning's struggles. In the nearby town, the women locked the doors and laid rifles across them, warned of approaching pirates. Sentinels lurked beneath the drawbridge, knee-deep in mud and slapping at mosquitoes. The New World was full of them.

One by one the stars came out, barely visible above the hazy Floridian atmosphere. Crickets and cicadas hawed in the jungle and from the road into Indian Territory that few dared take. Secretly over mugs of ale, the men often wondered to their comrades how long the Spanish would stay in this savage land, defending the old fort from marauding privateers when the little wealth they managed to extract from the land scarce paid for itself. Even Don Perez, the _capitán general _of the fort and town, could be heard to mutter against this fool lifestyle.

On the ramparts, old man Melilla yawned and blinked his half-moorish eyes. Like the others, he thought it doubtful the pirates would try anything by nightfall. The fallen tide protected them from the river, and the jungle gave its own defense against intruders. All too likely the black ship had gone back to Jamaica, and good riddance. Melilla shoved his hand into his coat and produced a flask, downing a few swallows and sputtering. Through bleary eyes, he thought he saw something moving across the beach. A man, staggering and ragged… the victim of a shipwreck? Or an escaped prisoner?

"Help!" the man croaked in English, almost at the bridge.

Seizing a torch, Melilla stumbled across the rampart and down the ladder, nodding to the others to open the gate. The worn out man practically collapsed on their doorstep.

"¿Problemo? ¿Podría Ayudarse?"

"Si," the man said, struggling to speak. His graying hair and weathered face reminded Mellila of a badger's. But was he a pirate or something less sinister?

"Ship attacked… by pirates…" the man gasped, pointing wildly to the ocean. "Ship with black sails…"

Mellila raised his eyebrows at his fellows, recognizing the ship. In broken English he replied, "You survived?"

"The only one," the man half-sobbed, raising his fist to the East and letting loose a string of invective. "Curse them! They're halfway across the ocean by now, I guess." He hung his head.

Melilla nodded, offering his flask to the man. "They attacked us near mid-afternoon, and then left. What is your _nombre_— rather, name, sailor?"

The man gratefully accepted the liquor. "My name's Pickering."

* * *

"She can't go any further," John finally admitted, pulling back on the sail. Marta, slumped over the helm, swatted a fly away and shrugged.

"So let's tie her up and go ahead on foot. Or take the longboat."

"Have you got any idea where this fountain actually is?" John asked.

Marta bit her lip, studying the overhead canopy with interest. "I haven't got a compass or a map, if that's what you're asking, Porter."

_When had she reverted to calling him Porter?_ "So you're saying we have to wait for our enemies to find it?"

"Or ask the natives," she replied, uncaring.

John bent his head and thought longingly of Port Morgan, where he knew everyone and what was expected of him. Was she worth this? "It can't be far, anyways…"

"Far enough to get lost," Marta nodded toward the few crewmembers, busy about their duties. "Whatever shall we tell them?"

"Perhaps that you brought them under false pretences?" he said through clenched teeth. They had argued incessantly since gaining passage past the fort. But the smell of sulfur in the air seemed to hint the others weren't far behind. John wrinkled his nose.

"Sulfur," Marta muttered. "Sulfur... strange, since we're upwind of the fort." Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Sulfur, John!"

"I beg pardon?"

"Sulfur! From an underground well! Don't you see? The smell could lead us straight to it!"

With unexpected noise, a stream of arrows abruptly burst through the foliage. The crew dropped to the deck as the feathered shafts found a mark in the rail and rigging.

"Marta, you just might be right…"

* * *

It was Birmingham himself who strode through the door moments later, bearing a teapot and plate of toast.

"Ah," Jack said, looking the articles over. "Jam? Child?"

Birmingham's icy grin revealed nothing in response to Jack's impertinence. Elizabeth found she was holding her breath, never quite able to believe what Jack was capable of—and wishing he would, for once, hold his tongue. "I'm afraid there is no more jam."

"No more jam?" Jack asked incredulously. He looked at Elizabeth with disappointment. She shook her head. "It's very important, Henry, for the King's memory. And there are still a slew of Pirate Lords at large…"

Birmingham produced the list of lords already named, the sound of the paper crumpling in his fist loud in the cabin. "A slew? A week ago there were nine. Now there seem to be endless enemies around the ocean."

"True's true, mate," Jack replied softly. "Ye'll always have enemies ye don't know about with _yer_ job."

Birmingham's gray eyes closed and reopened, slow as a lizard. The veins were tight in his hands. "I am not here to deliver food to my prisoners, surprising though it may seem." He set the things down on a table and paced the floor. "I am here to inquire about the escape of one Charles Vane."

"What?" Jack exclaimed.

"He's gone. The door of his holding cell quite literally lifted off. Longboat taken. And that little trinket of yours—the magic compass—has gone off with him as well. All this leaves me in quite a predicament…"

"Well, mate, it leaves _us_ in a predicament. I don't know how that vermin escaped."

"Don't be silly, Jack," Birmingham smirked, looking for a moment remarkably like Cutler Beckett, "I know it was one of you. Who else would know how to open the brig? Who else would help him off the ship without being seen?"

"It weren't me, I swear on the Bible and any other mystical text ye can think of." Jack lifted his hand, really perplexed. And then, with a sudden thought, he looked at the woman standing next to him—and in his mind he heard the sound of shackles clicking into place. Slowly he turned to her, hardly daring to look at her face. Forcing himself to speak, he said, "It couldn't possibly be one of us… we've been in this room all night…"

"All night? Except for a few moments of 'fresh air' on the deck, is that right, _King_?" Birmingham spat the title mockingly towards Elizabeth.

Elizabeth stood still as sunlight swept through the cabin, warm and eager. Jack's long shadow stretched across the floor, cutting the room in half, dividing it. And she could feel him tensing for motion, his mind whirring with excuses, he would find a way out of this yet…

"Well my dear?" Birmingham had all the haughty grandeur of a newly appointed chancellor. "Will you confess?"

"Course she won't!" Jack said desperately, grabbing her hand so tightly it hurt. "She didn't do it! She can't have…"

"My lord!" A man burst through the door, deferring to Birmingham at once. "We're coming up on the Spanish Fort."

* * *

A black stale night was beginning to fade over the Castillo. Empty barrels of ale were scattered in the courtyard, dozing men in their wake. The man who called himself Pickering was the only one still awake, chuckling to himself as he checked his pocket watch. Quarter till five. Right on schedule.

Careful not to disturb the men around him, Pickering gathered himself up and moved stealthily in the shadows toward the gate. With the watchtower down and the guards helped into slumber, it took little effort to man the wince unnoticed. Little by little, the bridge was lowered.

"Grease," Pickering muttered, eyeing the courtyard fearfully as the wince creaked. "Little grease and this would be silent as the grave."

A whistle startled him from beyond the bridge, out of the black morning. Wetting his lips, he whistled back. With a final thud, the bridge landed on the opposite shore.

A line of shrubbery was there. It began to move across the bridge. Swords were drawn.

"Well done, Mister Gibbs," Barbossa hissed as they slipped inside. Fenwick and Marcos made light work of disposing the snoring guards, and the rest of the crew fanned out through the fort. Blood spattered across the stone; where there was no resistance, prisoners were led to the holds. The battle, if it can be called that, was a silent affair, fast over. The impregnable fort was taken.

Just as quickly as the bridge had been lowered, it was raised. The colorful flag of the Spanish crown was pulled down from the rampart. In its place, a black flag was hung.

* * *

Birmingham gave a smile as wicked as any pirate's. "I'll leave you two to think things over." He turned to his man. "I want guards at every door. Shoot rather than allow them to escape. And send word to the Castillo to let us pass."

"Yes, my lord," the man said, and they both strode out in a bluster. The door was slammed behind them. The snick of a rifle being trained was heard.

Jack stood, stunned, speechless. He so seldom was at a loss for words. But now… now… achingly, he met her eyes. "Did ye do it, Lizzie?" She stood in front of the window, shadowed, and it hurt to look at her. The sun was so bright; her face, so hidden. Everything was unexpectedly quiet. Steam rose from the teapot.

"Jack," she said softly, dismissively, about to walk past him.

Exploding in anger, he thrust her back against the window, his breath hot on her neck. "Did ye do it?" he demanded again, twisting her arm behind her back, every muscle trembling. He heard her soft catch of pain, saw the hardened defensive line spread across her face, felt all her resistance. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it—that she had tricked him again, that she so easily lied to him, betrayed him? He wrenched her arm back again with greater force and grasped her throat with his other hand. She struggled to get free and couldn't.

"Jack," she choked, "I can't breath, let me go!"

"Tell me ye didn't help him escape."

"I don't have to tell you anything!" she cried wildly, feeling his fingers tighten their grip. "You told me you loved me, Jack. Are you going to kill me?"

"I might," he whispered, eyes blazing. "I just might, Lizzie, if ye insist on doing things this way." She was so beautiful in her anger that he wanted to worship her. And yet here he was, hurting her. Threatening her. Why did he always find himself here?

"Let me go, Jack," she said again, a hint of arrogance in her voice. She knew his weakness.

His mouth was barely an inch from hers, and he remembered with staggering warmth her kisses only hours ago—the way she panted for him, melted into him. He remembered the way she had looked holding their child. And unbidden, the memory of those shackles snapping shut hit his mind. Oh yes, he had forgiven her. But oh, too, he had learned from her. "What are ye doing, Lizzie?" he begged softly, feeling her shudder against him, press herself into him even.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Jack," she returned, much to his surprise.

"What do ye mean?" he said harshly, furious at the way her hair fell into her face, the way her free hand reached for his.

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," came her reply. "The pirates aren't my enemies, Jack. They're my people."

"He's not a true pirate," Jack contended. "He broke the code."

A wry smile lit her face despite the pain. "They're more like guidelines anyway, Jack."

"Don't say that, Lizzie," he ordered her, shoving her back again so that her head struck the glass. Sweat broke out on his forehead and neck, his throat was closing up even as he constricted his hands about hers. "With all that's happened—"

"I think its time we made allies instead of enemies!"

"So this isn't about ye _caring_ for him? After all, he so sweetly looked after ye before."

"What?" Elizabeth cried, aghast. "Are you jealous?"

His lips found their way to her mouth on their own and they kissed fiercely; a kiss that was almost a war. He broke away first and she reached after him. "Whose king are ye, Lizzie? Who do ye belong to?"

"No one!" she cried hotly. "And everyone..." She had softened again. "To the pirates, until I'm released from my duty. To Will, until he's released from his curse." Tears pooled at her eyes and she blinked them away, always stronger than Jack could believe. "And you. Most of all, to you and… and…"

"Our son."

"Yes," she breathed.

Delicately, he loosened his hold on her. Her arm fell to her side and her mouth formed a grimace as he kissed the marks he had left on her neck, flaming red. "I'm not sorry," he murmured gruffly, shyly.

"We're always hurting each other, Jack," she said, shaking now, sinking to the floor. She rubbed her arm where he had held it, bruises already spreading there.

"Ye're really not fit to be king of the pirates," he said, stepping back, hollow. "Much too noble. Too good for our lot." Too good for him to have on his own. All his life he had walked roads of vengeance. He still imagined with grim pleasure how it would feel to kill Charles Vane. And yet she had let him go, risked her neck even to do so. He would never understand her. And he was afraid she was risking too much this time.

* * *

"Stones laid, Captain Barbossa!" Fenwick pushed his sweated mop of hair out of his eyes. "With as much wood as we could get. Even at high tide, only one ship could ford the channel now."

"So supposin' Birmingham brings his Navy, it'll be no use?"

"Aye, Captain!" Fenwick said, pleased with himself. "Only one ship at a time will fit now. And as things look, it's on its way."

"Is that so? Well have them raise the bridge and get all hands to stations up top. If we cut off the head, the body may never attack at all." That method had certainly worked before.

Mr. Gibbs took that moment to interrupt, a telescope in one hand. "Sir, we can't open fire on them! Jack and Elizabeth are still on that ship!"

"Then let's pray they have the sense to get off once the fun begins," Barbossa growled. "This may be their only chance to escape."

"Or a fast ticket to Davy Jones' locker," Gibbs said obstinately.

"It's not Davy Jones' locker anymore, is it?" The men hit their marks and Barbossa adjusted the wide felt hat on his head in anticipation. Birmingham's flagship had come into view. Grudgingly, Barbossa squinted into the sun. "And don't forget, Mister Gibbs: he _is_ Captain Jack Sparrow."

* * *

_More to come soon! _


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27.**

**I hope you're all enjoying summer… :) Thank you so much for the reviews and encouragement and feedback! I ended up splitting this chapter in half so more soon...**

* * *

_First hit. The ship jerks back in the water, bigger than expected, repulsive and dignified. The hit is like first blood that is only a scratch. It gathers itself with ordered voices and comes again. The remaining half of the Armada has scattered throughout the islands, active in their work and still too close for comfort. This ship comes alone, and the pirates wonder why. _

_Second hit. The Castillo takes it this time and the half-broken-down tower crashes wearily to the ground, surrendering. Frenzy on the ramparts, and the black flag shudders in the wind._

* * *

Elizabeth leaned back against the curved wall of the ship, feeling the bruises spread across her arms and thinking she was glad of them; they reminded her not of his anger but his passion, the way his hands felt—sinewy and witty hands they were, hands that had always betrayed Jack's desires. Her head ached with weariness; she was so tired. Closing her eyes against the spreading sun, she thought what it would be like to rest, really rest. A late morning in the Caribbean, warm and breezy, and she would be on a ship—the Pearl, certainly, and she would peer through the doorway to see Jack at the helm, a flicker of a smile on his face. And she would feel secure in that, in that wicked, sure smile. The whole horizon would spread itself before them.

Gradually Elizabeth became aware of a dim pulsing, a faint noise that sounded familiar. She looked to see whether Jack had noticed it, but the noise seemed contained within her rather than coming from the outside. And she noted after a few moments that even its familiarity she was unsettled by it. It seemed to be a rhythm of some kind—steady and growing, not quite regular.

_Will_. It had taken her five minutes too long to recognize that noise, and she felt the horror of her own forgetfulness. How long had it been since she'd thought of him? How long since she'd pulled out that burdensome black chest and listened for her future within? Now the beat of it sounded through her whole body, rattled her bones and tensed her muscles until she thought she would explode. He would beat the secret straight out of her—that secret between her heart and the sea, that choice she had made and kept on making in folly and rapture ever since.

Wryly and stupidly, Elizabeth smiled. Will had always thought her rational, dependable. Will had been so terribly mistaken about her.

"Jack!"

Jack lifted his eyes to her; he had been lost in his thoughts… and dwelling on the ever-mounting irritation at being trapped on a ship below decks for so very long. It felt years and the room had begun to smother him. Having Elizabeth trapped with him merely increased the anxiety… and the way she said his name this time was imperious, much as she had said it on that sweltering night in Tortuga harbor. She had been so serious then, so determined. Sweet lass, he had thought her… sweet, stubborn, unquenchable lass, too pretty for comfort, too wild for comfort.

"Jack!" she repeated the command for attention, and he blinked towards her slowly, unable to decide whether to be pliant or rebellious with her, or apologetic. Time felt short, destiny was catching up with them again as it always did. A little further they'd got, a little deeper they'd gone—all the way to love this time, past lust and consequences. Love. The word still frightened him to his toes. It was a delicious fear. With her, it was an adventure, always had been. And she was looking at him the way she did—clever, serious brown eyes scheming, as he suspected his did. And the way their son's would.

"_Jack_!" She was taking none of his nonsense now. "I think you should get off the ship."

"Beg pardon?"

She looked old, strange. "Take the baby and get off the ship. Somehow I think… I'm afraid…"

"What?" The noise of canon fire had grown in recent moments; the Spanish Fort was clearly not as receptive as Birmingham had supposed it would be. The ship now jerked and shuddered with effort, ropes strained and some of the metal found its mark. "Love, if we're in danger (which I'm inclined to point out, is a place we tend to frequent) then we should all of us go together, if dear Birmingham's guard would relax their knickers long enough to let us."

"I can distract him," she said. They heard shouting on deck, orders being given and the jolt of a sandbar beneath the ship. They could barely keep from tumbling about the floor now, but neither ventured a guess as to why the Castillo had turned inhospitable. "Give you a chance to get to land."

Jack frowned until a crease formed on his dark brow. "You're being silly, love," he said, and then, noting her ire, "and I mean that in the best possible way. Why would I go and leave ye here?"

"Because you already know the way to the Fountain. I'll meet you there, if we make it through."

"I don't want the Fountain," he said, his frown deepening. "Don't want immortality. Haven't we been through this?"

"What is it you want, Jack?"

"I've told ye," he said, tossing back his braids with put-on bravado. His tired eyes gave him away. "Told ye again and again. Now what's this really about?" Did she still want immortality then—did she still feel it her duty to Will? To try and join him on his endless labor?

"Jack, a ship can't take on a Castillo."

"Stranger things have been done." He gave her an encouraging smile, the best he could muster. Surely things were different now—she had a child, a different life to pursue. And the sincerity of her kisses and the passion of her voice assured him of her heart.

For her part, Elizabeth felt the sudden intimacy of Jack's smile go through her like a gale. "Jack, if something happened to you on account of me, I couldn't bear it."

"Lizzie, Lizzie," he teased, his warmth masking his own fears, "I've never known ye this sentimental. What's this really about, love?"

She muttered something to the floor.

"Eh, what's that?"

"I'm not worried for myself, Jack, if we're on the water… there's Will."

"Ah, Will." Jack flipped his name on his tongue carelessly. "Your better half."

She narrowed her eyes at him, riled by his sarcasm.

"Love, if it's any comfort, I'm under the protection of an immortal one meself. No need to worry for me life after all."

"Calypso?" Elizabeth asked at once, confused. But then abruptly she noted how little trouble the wound in his shoulder had given him and how easy he had found it to sneak back aboard Birmingham's ship before. "Jack, how on earth did you talk her into that?"

A blank cover smoothed over his face. "That's none of yer business, love. Just barters and bargains and the like, nothing new to old Jack."

She would have asked him more—with her eyes she began to— but a sudden shock of noise left them both on the ground. A second later the window exploded inward and the door was blown off its hinges by a cannonball. Another came after it, as sudden as the first, and crashed aside the wall between them and the ocean.

Water rushed in, a wall of livid green that choked in Elizabeth's mouth and made her pain from a moment ago seem nothing. She stumbled away from the hole and toward the door, the cabin already knee deep in water and more spouting in and drenching her as she screamed blindly for Jack.

It wasn't until she had pushed aside the wrecked boards of the door that she realized Jack was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The twang of bowstrings and the whizz of arrows broke the peaceful chatter of the jungle, and Marta and John found themselves in a tangle on the deck of the _Norfolk_; the ship grated against the sandy bottom of the river and halted there.

"Clearly, we're getting close," Marta muttered, shoving John off of her and crawling towards the stern. More arrows and a few darts sprang through the air, and their mast was stuck all over with them.

"Captain!" one of the crew cried to John, "Orders?"

"How many rifles have we got?" John asked.

"Four, sir!"

Marta had already found her way to the hatch and armed herself, tossing a gun to John. "Get the men below decks and on the canons, John!"

"The canons?" John's face became a bit blank. "We lost those before the Castillo, Marta, in the shallows. Remember?"

"Bugger," Marta hissed. John blushed at her language. The jungle around them had fallen silent for a moment, except for a few low whistles. "How does one go about being taken hostage, John?"

He shrugged unhelpfully, his rifle trained on the scattered trees to their side.

Marta gritted her teeth, shoving her hair out of her face. "You were taken by Blackbeard's men, weren't you?"

"Why would we _want_ to be taken hostage, Marta?"

She smiled after the manner of Jack Sparrow, enigmatic and persuasive. "We can't parley with them until we can see them, John. And talking may be the only way to discover the Fountain…"

* * *

Unthinking, Elizabeth pushed aside the fragments of the door and darted into the hallway. Where was Jack? But she didn't have time to think… the screams from up top and the smell of kerosene alerted her to the ship's danger. Soldiers dashed past her in the narrow corridor, and then she heard the sound of a baby crying. "Blast," she muttered, sucking an incision on her hand and struggling to the next doorway. This cabin had fared better than the other—though empty of guards, it remained untouched thus far by the battle.

"Shh!" Elizabeth crooned, scooping her child up into her arms and instinctively looking him over. He was safe and sound, to her deep relief. He even stopped crying, reaching up with tiny fingers for her face. Elizabeth kissed him swiftly and made for the door, hoping the confusion would provide her an escape. It was unlikely Birmingham would give up his prisoners even in defeat. He still had half an armada scattered about the Caribbean, and they could be summoned quickly if need be. Two of the larger ships were only a few leagues out to sea, blocking the way of any Spanish privateers.

"My lady…"

A soft voice startled her and Elizabeth jerked around, wondering how one fought with an infant in one hand. But it was only a heavy worn-out woman, trembling with fear under a desk. Shadows ringed the woman's eyes and a few marks showed on her skin… evidence of her master's displeasure.

"My lady, forgive me…"

"What have you to be forgiven of?" Elizabeth whispered, shuddering along with the ship. A pistol skittered across the floor from the hallway as men began leaping overboard. There wasn't time to waste, but the pitiful expression in the woman's dark eyes weakened her. She was suddenly grateful to this stranger, the one who had guarded her son in moments both asleep and awake while she had been absent.

"I only meant to take care of him," the woman said, a sob in her voice breaking through.

"And you have," Elizabeth said, half-exhibiting her son's face.

With a slow motion, the woman lifted up a bottle of green glass. A few drops of amber liquid still clung around its mouth. With horror, Elizabeth looked down and saw what she had feared: a trace of the drink around her son's lips. "No," she whispered, forming the word with difficulty. "No!"

"I'm sorry…"

Elizabeth fumbled on the floor for the pistol, pulling it ready in a blinding rage. "How long," she demanded, her voice hoarse and nearly gone. "How long?" she questioned again in a shriek.

"Two or three days at most," the woman gasped, reaching into her bodice for yet another bottle. "I didn't have time to give him the rest… it will be slow…"

With a scream, Elizabeth pulled the trigger. The woman slumped back, the flesh above her right breast open and steadily pouring blood. Wildly Elizabeth clutched her son to her throat, covering his tiny curious face with kisses.

Another canon shot through the room, and Elizabeth lifted her head at last. Two or three days… two or three days to reach the Fountain and save her son. Pulsing and desperate, Elizabeth lurched for the door, her lips set in a line. The only thought that came to her mind was Jack. _Where was he?_

* * *

_Will post next bit ASAP! :)  
_


	28. Chapter 28

**Ch. 28**

**The reviews are constantly blowing me away and generally making life fantastic. THANK YOU ALL!! Many hugs and kisses… and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Birmingham watched the slow destruction of his ship grimly from the stern, his boat half-lowered and ready to escape the wreckage. The situation at the fort had caught him off guard, yes, but he could afford to sacrifice his flagship (a pawn) in exchange for his prize. _Immortality_. The word had haunted his dreams since he was a boy, witnessing untimely deaths and later the cheapness of life beyond London's sheltered court. Power, wealth, prestige and the envy of his fellow man—these were goals he had made and met over the years. These were the things that had given him direction, purpose. And then, having them all, he grew restless. He hungered for a new challenge. Taking on piracy was an amusing diversion, but the idea of immortalizing his constant success awoke the old spark of ambition in him. The world was a generous place for a man who knew how to use his wits—and the other resources at his disposal. Birmingham had carefully developed the cynicism of modernity over the years and nurtured it as he hardened his body and his mind against weakness. But the tedium of life could be countered and the despair that crept with age allayed if he but played his gambits right.

The head of the mast suddenly splintered under a well-aimed canon, and Birmingham steadied himself against the rail. His keen gray eyes darted about the deck, now under the command of his lieutenant. He was waiting for someone.

Ah, there she was. Elizabeth's lithe figure emerged from the cabin door, her babe held against her body protectively. From across the deck Birmingham could see her calculating brown eyes taking in the scene; he could see decisions being made on her face. With a curl of his lips, Birmingham recalled her battered and forlorn body after weeks of questioning before her child was taken from her. _Yes_, he thought with practiced cynicism, _even the proud Pirate King could be broken._ But for now he was struck by her movements, graceful and quick, strong. Alone, she might have leapt overboard and made it to shore… but having the boy with her changed everything. Did she think she would escape so easily?

Birmingham met the eyes of his quartermaster, who made his way to Elizabeth and clamped a muscular hand over her arm. With obvious menace, he dragged her up the stairs and pushed her in front of Birmingham. The noise of battle was loud around them, but Birmingham felt a war smoldering on her face.

"Mrs. Turner, I'm glad to see you alive."

"Where's Jack?" she demanded at once, rocking her body back and forth to quiet the boy. "We have to get off this ship at once!"

"And we will, my dear, we will," Birmingham said. "You've set one lover free, I can only imagine you've cleared the other as well. Jack Sparrow is not in my keeping."

Elizabeth wondered whether he meant Will or Charles Vane. "He may still be below decks…"

"Then let us hope he finds a way out before we watch her sink," was Birmingham's dry response. "Into the boat, now. I don't give up a quest over the loss of one ship."

Elizabeth's throat clamped shut and she tried desperately to believe Jack had escaped and swam to safety. What if he were unconscious below…? Climbing into the longboat—leaving him on a doomed ship again—she couldn't do it! "I won't leave without knowing he's safe," she said, realizing at the same time she was in no position to argue.

"Ah, but you must," Birmingham said with a knowing smile. "For the boy. He's got only days to live… and you can't afford to waste a second if you mean to save him."

"You ordered that… the poison?" she breathed.

"Time presses, and things weren't in our favor. I will achieve what I set out to do, Mrs. Turner. Just remember that."

Elizabeth looked in anguish at the longboat, on level with the water now. Then she turned back to Birmingham as though quailed. "You wouldn't let my son die, would you? Without him, there would be no reason for me to help you once we reach the Fountain… without him alive, I'd never be any good…"

"True," Birmingham said. "So let's get along and we won't have any more trouble, see?"

Elizabeth's eyes glittered, hard and animal-like. "So you understand _he_ is the only reason I would ever return, were I to escape?"

And then, without giving Birmingham time to reflect on her words, she shoved her son into his arms, dashed across the deck and dove into the wild green waters of the Atlantic.

* * *

"A few more strikes and she'll go under!" Gibbs shouted toward Barbossa, who observed rather than manned a gun himself. The Castillo was well-equipped, despite her hits from their own encounter with her. Birmingham's flagship was all but destroyed, a somewhat flat victory for the pirates, who knew half of his armada lurked nearby. But for now a slight victory meant a few more days alive, a few more opportunities to cheat death and perhaps some gold into the bargain.

"Keep the pressure on her," Barbossa instructed Gibbs, taking another wary glance towards the town nearby. So far, all was quiet from that quarter. But Barbossa knew rallied citizens could put a damper on their plans faster than any number of British ships. His head rang with the whiz of gunfire and bombs exploding; his teeth were wearing themselves down. But he, Hector Barbossa, was defeating the most powerful figure of the seas. It was a high point in his career, however temporary it may prove.

"No sign of Jack?" Gibbs muttered to Fenwick, who crouched at the ramparts with a telescope. Fenwick shook his head miserably. And then, straightening a bit, he readjusted his view.

"Wait, Mister Gibbs," he said with excitement. "I think that lady—the Pirate King—I may have found her."

"Mother's love," Gibbs groused, seizing the object and having a look for himself. Yes, it must be Elizabeth there on the deck. He watched her thrust a bundle at Birmingham and then dive overboard, all at once hidden in the wreckage. Gibbs smiled ruefully. "Well, there's one who's managing fine. What about the other?" Still no sign of Jack.

"It seems a very important passage of the code has been entirely forgotten," Barbossa put in with an irritated shrug. "Any man who falls behind… Didn't that used to be a fairly important bit?"

"Aye, aye," Gibbs said, waving his hand. "None of us are very _good_ pirates, Captain. Excepting ye of course."

"A keen evaluation, Mister Gibbs."

* * *

The water into which Elizabeth dove seemed frightfully cold and unforgiving. She found her bearings and broke the surface quickly, hazarding a few quick breaths before launching herself back towards the twisted wreckage that had once been Birmingham's ship. His longboat, loaded with himself and his most trusted guards, sped away as fast as they could row, heading north along the shoreline. And her son was still there, now in the arms of Birmingham's lieutenant. With tortured discipline, Elizabeth turned away from that view and gave her attention fully to the ship. Fires had broken out where the powder kegs had been, and the deck itself sloped downward in the middle, cracked. But she spied the window through which she and Jack had lately looked in their prisoners' cabin. The glass was shattered and the place itself was nearly underwater.

Gasping, she clutched at the boards and felt splinters bite into her hands. The room was empty—no Jack. And panic was muddling her head; she couldn't think, couldn't decide whether to give up her search or go on. A teapot floated through the debris.

She went on for lack of a better idea. Maybe Jack had escaped, but maybe he hadn't. That _maybe_ frightened her more than she could have expected. When had his life become so important to her—so important that she risked her son and her sanity for it? What had happened to her cool resolve?

She made for the hallway, swimming more than walking, and shuddering at each jerk and crack of noise above her. "Jack!" she cried a few times; the entire ship seemed deserted now, a deathtrap waiting to collapse. She must get out. She had been a fool to come—Jack wasn't here.

Her way back was now blocked with water, and with a sickening dread she stumbled down the hallway, earnestly trying to remember the route to the stairs. There—ahead! The main stairway… or what was left of it. And on the second step, nearly claimed by water, was Jack's hat.

She snatched it into her trembling hands and saw beyond it were Jack's boots. And then Jack's coat. Had he vanished into the ocean? Stripped in order to stay afloat? Or left her a trail to follow?

The stairs were right there—she could take them and get out. But she had come this far already… she pulled his coat on, the scent sharp and exciting as his skin was, so familiar. She went forward a few steps, a few more, feeling the ship breaking apart both above and below her. Water began to pour in from overhead. She went on another pace, but no more of Jack's belongings appeared. And now she was lost at the end of a twisted corridor, her passage to the stairs blocked by water.

_Bugger_, Elizabeth thought to herself, her throat tightening. And then a beam of wood came crashing down from above and she was lost in blackness.

* * *

_He was bending over her with sinful black eyes, amused, even mocking her. Elizabeth struggled to stand but he held her down another moment, allowing his laughter to break forth. _

"_Jack Sparrow, you devil!" she spat, annoyed but unable to match his strength. "Let go of me." _

_He did, and she sprang up, feeling her skin burn where he had touched it. Conceited, infuriating man! "Ye're welcome, darlin'," he said, tipping his hat at her. _

"_Welcome for what?" _

"_For saving yer life, yet again, obviously. Nearly tumbled right over the edge. Ye really should watch yerself around edges, love."_

_Elizabeth rubbed her shoulder, recalling how she had leaned far over the stern of the Pearl, her eyes caught by a curious rippling of the water. They were near to Isla Cruses now, very near… and thereby, nearer to rescuing Will. But she found herself more unsettled by Jack Sparrow, still hovering at the corner of her eye. Persuade me, he had said. His ridiculous way of wooing a lady, perhaps? Or was it his uncanny ability to tease and arouse her despite the barriers she worked so hard at keeping between them? In any case, she knew she had better get away from him, better not glance at the way he looked bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight, the gold flecks dancing in his eyes and his rebelliously knotted hair casting shadows on his face. _

"_What's the matter?" he asked innocently as she brushed past him, her chin lifted. "Afraid I would have let you fall?" _

"_Not in the slightest," she retorted, seeing he would not let well enough alone. "Thank you for your assistance, but as you said, I had better stay away from edges." _

"_And I am an edge, am I?" his voice was rich with laughter. "A dangerous cliff you may well tumble off, if ye get too close?"_

_Elizabeth sputtered but found no response. He laid a witty finger on her lips, enjoying her discomfort. _

"_Otherwise, why would ye avoid me so studiously?"_

_She slapped his finger away. "I'm very much not afraid of you, Jack Sparrow, however much you would like me to be. I see straight through you." _

"_Do ye? And what's on the other side then, love?" _

_She gritted her teeth to keep from smiling, all at once aware of feeling happy, even giddy. "On the other side of you is my future, Jack."_

_He stepped a bit closer, raising an eyebrow. "And I'm in the way of it, is that it?" _

_She found parleying him with words too exhilarating for comfort. With a slow shake of her head, she stalked down the stairs and sat down. And there he was again, following her, a bottle of rum miraculously in his hand. _

"_Jack…"_

* * *

"Jack…" Elizabeth murmured again, finding the memory (or dream) retreat back into her subconscious. Yet someone was bending over her…

"No," a voice said, "Just me."

Her eyes sprang open and she found herself looking into the face of her husband, Will Turner.

* * *

**_More soon…_**


	29. Chapter 29

**I guess you've all come to realize I am frightfully absent-minded; despite being absolutely committed to finishing this story (and I would say, were about 4/5ths through and nearing the Big Finish) I seem able to go weeks having totally forgotten I was even writing it. I don't know how you all put up with me, but I love you all dearly and am forever indebted to you for sticking it through and showering me with your wonderful encouragement. **

**The plan is to post 4 or 5 more chapters by July 21, which should be the day I finish. We'll see if it works out, I feel badly this is dragging on so… and now without further ado…**

**CHAPTER 29.**

* * *

Where had the ocean gone? The cold clean water rushing through her veins and the fire it fed? Where had that instant retreated too—the instant before blackness, when adrenaline surged thick in her blood and even despair tasted right, seasoned well with adventure?

Elizabeth found herself still, cool, unable to auger the flurried questions she had surrendered upon waking. Everything was so bright, so intensely lucid and somehow it all seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"Elizabeth?"

His voice again. Her eyes took a moment to focus (could it be sunlight, poured around them like golden wine?) and she found his face, his keen brown eyes, the pucker over his brow that once marked concern… William Turner. He hadn't aged, she supposed, but rather taken on new realities in his skin and let grow secrets across his face. He was nothing like she remembered, nothing like she imagined, and everything she ought to have been expecting.

"Am I dead?" that she found the question in her blank mind was a miracle.

"Yes."

_Oh god, oh god_, Elizabeth thought in an unintentional flow, almost a prayer, _how can he say it so straight? Why did he not save me?_

"I was a moment late. Something held me back from saving you."

Had she spoken out loud? Elizabeth realized she wasn't looking him in the eyes; realized she was laying wet on the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ (something she decided by instinct and not awareness). "What kept you?"

William Turner did not answer.

"Is Jack alive?"

He might have been looking at a pocket watch, the way he turned his gaze to the water (the source, perhaps, of the light) and studied it. At last he spoke, his voice swept clean and empty as a cathedral, "He is alive."

Elizabeth suddenly lurched forward and spit a mouthful of seawater onto the deck. She felt her lungs empty of what must have been her death as she wretched, the salt and bile still thick in her mouth but her mind cleared and jubilant. _He was alive!_ He had escaped the net again… he was free…

"I've been dreading this moment since I left you."

Elizabeth forced herself to look at him, an echo of the man she'd first loved, first kissed, first lost. His skin seemed transparent, shaded blue and emanating light. She reached for his hands (cool and smooth, blessedly steady) and kissed them both, one after the other. And she wondered how her heart could be breaking like this when she was dead.

He knelt and then sat on the deck next to her, in the midst of her seawater, and very slowly wrapped his arms around her, held her to his empty chest. He rocked back and forth a moment in the rhythm of a mourner. He finally said, without any emotion, "I'm sorry it happened this way."

Elizabeth pulled out of his arms. Freed of his touch, she felt energy stirring from her toes, up her legs and into her middle, down each arm and finger, up her neck and into her head until she might burst with restrained life. "My son," she said.

"Your son."

"Dying," she stammered. "And on land."

"You want me to…"

"Can you…?"

"It costs something."

Elizabeth tried bleakly to remember what bargain Marta had made with the Captain of the Flying Dutchman to allow her a few more weeks alive.

"Elizabeth?"

They were standing now; the ship was deserted and aground on a sandbar. A few inches of glassy water, dead flat, spread out from them in every direction. "Yes, Will?"

"I sent Jack to you. When you thought he was dead, he came to me and I asked him to protect you. It seems he couldn't, this time."

Perhaps Elizabeth was filled with the emotion he could not feel, because she was weeping now. In the midst of this liquid light her tears felt strange and unwelcome. She cried them anyway.

How much Will had given for her! Given up his respectability, and then his place in Port Royal, the work he loved tempering swords and his newfound delight at being part of a family—her family—and then chose her above his own father, until fate intervened. Until Jack intervened. All that had once conspired to bring Elizabeth toward Will had then conspired to take him away from her. And now death itself would be between them… even as her life and her passion had been its own barrier against the memory of Will. Surely Will knew and could guess that she had left the shards of their old life behind and built a new one. Surely Will understood that Jack was irrevocably measured into the foundation of it all. He had sent Jack to her as a last mark of his dying love.

"I've lost myself, Elizabeth, and I've lost you. I've lost everything except…"

"…your task." She finished the sentence without thinking. She had never thought death would feel so very much like life. She risked the cold again and slung her arms around him, kissed his face and mouth and eyes, chafed his hands as though it would revive him from this slow quiet disappearance. "I wish I could—"

"I wish you could too." He smiled a cool, lofty, and almost indifferent smile. "But you suffer more than me I think."

She wanted to say thank you for everything, or that she was sorry for everything—wanted to explain her unfaithfulness and her willingness to move on. She wanted to restore the immaculate beauty of what they had once been in her mind. But instead, she half-croaked, "Please let me save my son, Will… please. I'll do anything."

For the first time since waking, Elizabeth saw a trace of sorrow appear in his gaze. "I can give you one week. No more. I came too late. I was delayed, and I couldn't save you."

_One week._ "What delayed you?"

His shoulders tensed and then relaxed in a movement akin to shrugging. "I came to you. You begged me to do something first. I did what you asked. When I came back, it was too late."

"What did I ask?" she asked, with faint curiosity. _How strange to have lost her last memories!_

"You asked me to save Jack."

* * *

Jack woke up. He was lying on the beach, his mouth full of sand and naked save his old breeches. And he had the very distinct impression he was not so much waking up as falling back asleep, lost again to the tangle of dreams and visions that had trapped him since the canon fire burst through the window of the cabin on Birmingham's ship…

_Elizabeth!_ Jack struggled to get to his feet. His head felt heavy; he grasped blindly for his sword to hack away the damp braids, but his sword was gone.

He could hear sounds. He could see again. The scene before him pinched at the rising panic in his chest. In the ocean, Birmingham's battered ship was breaking apart, nearly underwater now. Jack could see the Flying Dutchman for a glimmer of time, and then it slid past his visage and melted into the horizon. And there, as he turned in a daze, behind him: the Castillo. The noise of celebrating pirates. Barbossa! Gibbs! He could hear their voices. Funny how even Barbossa's voice sounded welcome right now.

"Ye cheated death again, eh, Jack?"

Jack spun and found himself back in the sand, looking up at Tia Dalma. But that couldn't be right—she ought to be Calypso…

"I take many form. Dis how ye know me best, aye?"

"Why are you here?" he found the use of his voice perplexing, as though he'd been stricken dumb for a thousand years before.

"De Captain of de Dutchman and I, we quarrel over yer carrion." She smiled, her teeth inked black and her provocative face a mere mask of the force inside.

Jack squinted and sucked his cheeks hollow. He pinched himself and it hurt. "I would venture to say (though I'm only too likely to be wrong) that I'm not dead."

"Ye came very close dis time, Jack, and den I could have had ye back to de sea wit me."

Jack wished he could stand level with her, but didn't risk his balance again. "I thought we made a deal. Ye were supposed to keep me alive, weren't ye?"

"Der be many forms of life, Jack." She was laughing.

He kicked sand in her direction. "Betraying harlot," he muttered under his breath. "But I suppose ye saved me after all?"

"Not I. William Turner got to ye first."

"Ah yes… our much discussed ferryman. What brought him here?"

"Death," Calypso said simply. "As bring him anywhere. Only dis time, I tink de final death cause him some pain."

Jack was on his feet, his hands shoved against Tia Dalma's shoulders before he fully took in her words. "Whose death?" He pushed her back, completely disregarding her divine capabilities. _"Whose death?"_

"Why, him wife's of course."

* * *

"Mother's love," Gibbs fumbled in his vest for the telescope, stretched it and steadied it in his free hand. The victory's necessary draught made this difficult. His eye adjusted to the view. He wasn't mistaken. "Jack!" he hollered from the roughed up look-out of the Spanish Fort. He leaned far over the rail and waved wildly. "Jack Sparrow! Is that you?"

The figure moving across the beach in a kind of awkward dance paused and waved back silently. It was Jack.

In a flurry, Gibbs tripped down the stairs and threw open the gate. "Jack Sparrow!"

"Mister Gibbs," said Jack in a garbage ally tone.

"Mary and Joseph, Jack, you're alive! We thought sure ye'd gone under."

"I did," Jack said quietly.

"And wriggled free again," Gibbs winked, pressing his bottle into Jack's hand with fervor. "We saw the Dutchman, and it left us feelin' cold, mark me words, Captain. Barbossa himself looked pale. But that rat Birmingham's off for now, so we made easy for a while, no doubt he'll be back… and that lass Marta and her boy, they've gone after the Fountain and could be anywhere now…" Gibbs halted for a moment and studied Jack's face, as though he could read it. "Where be the king?"

"She's dead, Mister Gibbs."

It was dark all at once inside the courtyard; a dull brown twilight settled in with Jack's words and Gibbs stumbled back a pace, thinking he wouldn't believe it. He whispered, "She can't be… what of Will Turner?"

"What of him?" Jack said like a plucked violin, dangerous but so very soft.

"He wouldn't have let her…die… on the sea…" Gibbs made a rough gesture with his hand. "Surely he could have saved her?"

"He could have, if there had been time."

"But he could bring her back, aye?"

"For a moment maybe, a day," he trailed off, looked behind him as if she might be there. "But not forever. He's a steward of death, he's got his task."

Gibbs wished he had a torch or a match to hold to Jack's face; it seemed so inhuman. "And the child?"

"The child?" Jack repeated dully.

"Yer child, Jack. Did he die too?"

Jack's face became a little more human. The brown twilight flirted with the air of afternoon for a moment. "Perhaps not…"

* * *


	30. Chapter 30

**I seem to have angered or otherwise upset people… woopsie! I hurried to update as a sort of apology…**

**I LOVE YOU ALL!! and THANK YOU as always for your enthralling feedback... i love it!!  
**

**Ch. 30**

* * *

At the end of ends, Jack Sparrow sat alone, drunk, on the rampart of the Spanish Fort, alternately cursing the wide white moon that bounded off every wave and the hushed broken wind that floundered in from the jungle. "We kindle and char, and flame and ignite, drink up me hearties Yo Ho…" He twirled a bottle in his hand and then crashed it down on the stone. Another one empty. Aye, another one empty.

It was his own bloody fault, he kept repeating to himself, and the words lost meaning with every refrain. He should have stayed the bloody hell away from bloody buggering Port Morgan. Should have made for the tide as soon as he saw the black sails on the horizon. He should have kept to his plan, kept to the code; he'd be immortal, he'd be free. The night he first saw her scars, learned of her troubles, he should have set himself ashore and stayed there, let the proud King manage her own affairs and kept his head on his shoulders where it belonged.

"Where the devil's my bottle?" Jack muttered. "Lizzie, blasted love, if ye were here I'd bloody kill ye for all ye've put me through." Jack groaned against the crystalline mess around him. "Then maybe ye'd know what I felt like right now."

Jack found an old leather flask—probably Gibbs'—stuck deep in the pocket of his borrowed coat and downed the last swallow. He could drink all the rum left in the Caribbean, he thought, before it would do him any good. Even the elixir of life would taste rancid on his tongue tonight.

"Lizzie, lass, I fancy ye knew how it would be in the end, eh darlin'? The legendary Captain Jack Sparrow turned drunken sod for yer love?" Jack swung at the air aimlessly. The palm trees whispered together behind him. "This is all Will Turner's fault. Will bloody Turner." Jack raised the empty flask. "Ye had one job to do, mate. Yer bloody curse was good for one bloody thing. And ye failed." Jack shuddered at the last word. It was him who had failed. Will had entrusted Elizabeth to _him_—asked him to protect her. And he hadn't. "That's what comes of giving a rum soaked pirate responsibility." Aye, that's what came of pretending a rum soaked pirate could ever have love.

"Hell and heaven," Jack sighed, digging his fingers into the grit between the old stones, "I'd have gone in her place." Like he had done once, without quite meaning to. He got his legs under him and stood, mystified and horrified at the calmness of the night. "Ye hear that, Lizzie?" he shouted to no one and nothing, "I'd of gone in yer place, a thousand times again!"

The ocean didn't respond. A long quiet went along its shores; an ancient knowing, an incurable hardness. Jack hated the ocean.

"We're beggars, blighters, ne'er do well cads, drink up me hearties, Yo Ho. Aye, but we're loved by—"

Jack paused. A wind had whipped up and the stars on the horizon vanished in a black shadow.

"But we're loved by—"

Again he fell silent. The waves began to pound the tidy beach with fury. Land shrunk away from the calloused black invading midnight's sky.

"Loved by me," someone said.

Jack blinked twice. "Jesus," he hissed. "It can't be."

Elizabeth, bathed in the pervading moonlight, stood not a yard away from him on the rampart.

"Ye're ghost is bloody beautiful, Lizzie. Should've known ye'd haunt me."

"Ye look awful," she said, coming quite close to him. "What happened to you?"

"_You_ did, love." He smirked, finding consolation in the fact that so little rum had done so much in the way of dreams. And then, curiously, his mind jumped back to another night on another beach, when he had come before Elizabeth pretending to be a dream… back from the dead…

* * *

"Dawn'll come soon, I reckon," Gibbs said in a storeroom cellar. Fenwick stood loading cargo onto a cart, exhaustion etched in his movements. Barbossa leaned against the rock wall, immobile, while Gibbs chattered. "Jack said to be ready at first light. That wretch Birmingham, he's a hard one to predict. But he'll show all right, if not here, then somewhere on the road to the Fountain. Mark me words, Jack knows it. It's his boy he's worried for now. Poor little blighter, a sad pawn in all this…"

"And heir to a Pirate Lord's fortune," Barbossa said with an impious glance. "Heir to the noose, more's like."

"Lordy," Gibbs went on, as though he hadn't heard, "All these years and never saw Jack with no bastard, no children, pardon. Never put down roots for it."

Marco's dark head stuck down into the room. "Noise from town. Seems the townsfolk got themselves together and armed. Think they might oust us in the name of their Spanish King."

Gibbs eyed their stores. "We'd best be making our escape anyway, afore the rest of the Navy bears down on us. It's off at dawn, so have the boys ready."

"What 'bout the Pearl? She's still in harbor."

"And there she'll stay till Jack says otherwise. We've got a score to settle before she sees the open sea again."

"And we'll be one hand less," Marco mumbled. "A bad day for pirates when their King is lost."

Fenwick said, "Is it true she lead the pirates against Lord Beckett?" He ducked his head, embarrassed. "We heard such tales of the Pirate King, back home. Then when I sailed under her, I thought they'd be true, must be. But she never would say…"

"It's true," Barbossa assented, glancing about him, always wary. "I could tell ye stories of her that'd make yer blood cold. She stabbed me in the heart with a dinner knife, if ye'd believe it."

Fenwick shivered appreciatively. "Such a pity she's gone, eh?"

"Death comes to all of us once," Gibbs shrugged, two fingers deftly making the sign of the cross in the air.

Barbossa widened his lips and leered over at Fenwick. "And it comes to some of us twice."

* * *

"Are you going to touch me, Jack?"

Jack swallowed and suddenly wished he'd never tasted rum. He couldn't think. "Are ye a ghost? Are ye dead?"

"What if I were?" The defiant glitter in Elizabeth's eyes was like a blow to his over-indulged senses. He swept her into his arms and crushed her against his body, feeling her warmth and her quick intake of breath. Perhaps she was no more than a tormenting spirit; it didn't matter. He could taste her. He could breath the ambrosia laced in her tangled hair and the devil's desire that soaked out of her every pore and drove him mad.

"Take me there with ye, if yer dead, Lizzie," he breathed, bruising her skin with his embrace.

Their mouths met then, furiously. "Jack," said Elizabeth, "Are you crying?"

Jack frowned deeply, dashing his hand across his face. "Not a chance, love."

"You were crying… for me?" she touched his face where it was wet, stood up to trace the path of his tears with her tongue. "Never could have imagined that."

"Why not?" he said, a bit irate at her serenity. "I told ye again and again what ye mean to me, and then ye go and die. No concern for my feelings at all, as it were."

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she buried her face in his chest. "This is all my fault."

He chuckled. "How is it yer fault, ghost of Lizzie?"

"I'm not a dream, Jack," she said, suddenly urgent. "And there isn't any time to lose…"

"Calypso herself said ye died," Jack replied, kicking aside the bit of hope that flamed up painfully in his middle.

"I did, I suppose," Elizabeth smiled oddly. "Now we've both died, haven't we?"

Jack gripped her shoulders. "What are you trying to bloody tell me, Lizzie?"

She dropped her eyes. "That I've got one week to try and save our son before Will comes for me… to take me to…"

Jack sucked in his breath, teetering over some awful brink.

"Before I have to say goodbye," she finally finished.

"It is… _you_, then? Yer really here?" He lifted his right hand, loaded with rings and shaking, to her face. His fingers swept across her forehead, down her nose and cheekbones, pressed her lips with eerie wonder. "Ye didn't go away and leave me after all?"

"Not yet…" she bit hard on her lip, so hard she felt she would break the skin. "I'll have time now to say a proper goodbye."

He seized her back between his strong brown arms and shook her wildly. "No more goodbyes, love, no more. I'm not letting ye go this time, ye hear?" She was so warm… her breath so ardent at his throat, her body so very warm… _'we kindle and char, we flame and ignite… drink up me hearties, Yo Ho…'_

"There's nothing for it, Jack," she said, forcing her voice to be firm. "I'm dead already. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He had found her mouth again and she felt he would never let her breath. And then, strangely, he bent back. He licked his lips, a crease deepening between his enigmatic burned-coal eyes. "Lizzie," he said, with a whiff of a grin, "If ye're really and truly dead, why should yer lips _bleed_ when ye bite them? If yer dead, why is there still blood in yer veins?"

* * *

_**More soon! **_


	31. Chapter 31

_**I have been away from the computer traveling for a month and then have just started classes again at university… I am very, VERY sorry for my pathetic excuses by way of this story floundering, but I haven't given it up, and it is drawing nearer to a close… I will finish it, I promise! I have my computer back and a bit of time now, so I'll do my best to keep this up once a week for any of you loyal darlings who have stuck around with me. If you need more Sparrabeth fixes, check out any of Florencia's stories (currently: "Vulnerant Omnes, Ultima Necat"), Willofthewisp's stories (her brilliant Jack backstory is a WIP right now, "The Sparrow's Journey"), or head over to livejournal to read Redux08, by FriedFlamingo and Salr… take tissues and someone to squeeze hands with for that!! I'm still catching up on all these myself… great things happening around the net. **_

_**I'll hopefully be starting the second phase of my character trilogy soon as well-- I wrote about Calypso in "Nights in the Bayou", and will be delving into one of my other favorite characters… who shall remain a secret till it's up and posted. That should be up starting next week. **_

**_I know I've been terrible about answering reviews, but I promise I will get back on track with that because I LOVE hearing all your brilliant feedback and conversing with you about it._ **

**CH. 31**

* * *

It was late when Calypso found herself back on the beach—late enough to be early. Surely now the night was a little less dark than it had been as the moon waned and the wind quieted. But the time troubled Calypso little; it was Jack's voice that roused her and brought her back from a thousand miles away and made her think the bargain of protection she had struck with him must soon dissolve.

It would be Tia Dalma he met again—a form as old and comfortable to Calypso as the northern currents. She saw him standing there already, awaiting her, saw him from a hundred visages. He was not alone.

The Pirate King stood with him. Funny, Calypso thought… the lass was meant to be dead. Humans were so unpredictable! And here were two who had tangled too long in the world of the gods; they had become adept at cheating man's oldest enemies. Time bent for them, death forgave them, Calypso herself responded to their summons. Legends were wrapped around them and would grow out in the years to come. They would never be forgotten, Calypso thought, even if the truth shriveled away under stories and inventions of what these heroes—these pirates—had been.

"Calypso!" Jack's voice was sharp, commanding.

Steadily she replied, "Jack Sparrow," and after a moment, "Elizabeth Turner."

"Elizabeth Swann," came the correction. "My husband is dead."

"Is dat so?" Calypso stood before them in the surf now, eyeing their bright, desperate faces and the way their fingers laced together in the darkness. Calypso could see the strength in Jack's brown hand and the felt the quick throb of Elizabeth's pulse at his wrist. A cold wave hit all three and Calypso saw the way Elizabeth steadied herself against Jack. "I were under de impression yer dearly beloved was Captain of de Flying Dutchman."

"Aye, as you say," Elizabeth said softly. "But the man I once loved is no more."

"And de man ye now love…?"

Jack shot Calypso a steely glare. "We need help, Calypso. If our bargain still stands, that is."

Calypso grinned. The waves receded a little. "Our bargain still stands, Sparrow, and I'll trust ye to fulfill yer part in due time."

"Aye, that I will," Jack said carelessly. He leaned into Calypso's presence, lowered his voice. "But we fear the Captain of the Flying Dutchman may be claiming a life before it be his to claim. And since, my dear, ye are the true power of the seas (and all who perish therein) we find ourselves in need of yer unique… wisdom."

"Ah," Calypso's grin widened. "Who be de corpse ye need brought back to life?"

"Me," Elizabeth said, at the same time Jack said, "She isn't a corpse at all!" Calypso looked from one to the other in measured interest, and seemed to decide Jack's was the statement worth hearing.

"No, no she isn't."

"She's alive enough to bleed," Jack continued.

"Den what be yer problem?"

"I saw Will," Elizabeth said quickly. "He told me I was dead and that I'd have just a week here to save my son before he would come for me… to take me back with him."

"So a man may claim what is rightfully his." Calypso's face turned brittle, the ember-lit eyes hardened. "It were yer own choice to bind yerself to him, der in de wake off de Cove."

"Yes," Elizabeth cried, "I made a choice to marry William Turner, my fiancé! Not to cleave myself forever to the undead… not to surrender all chance of hope or life or love… not to…" her voice broke and she bit her lip, trying to master herself.

A moment slid by, and then Calypso said gently, "Child, I know de trick fate played ye. And I know de call for freedom in yer breast." Her face was deeply shadowed, and yet her smile seemed winsome. "Is it not de yearning of all women?" Elizabeth lifted her eyes and was surprised by the compassion there. "I will help ye, for de sake of Jack Sparrow. Two choices lay before ye, lass. To pursue yer own life, at de cost of William Turner's soul. Or to stab him heart yerself, freeing him and shouldering him burden until another come to take yer place."

"I don't understand," Jack said blankly. "Will set her free. Told me to look after her…"

"Aye," Calypso said, "And dat cost him a heart, and will soon cost him his soul. Him cold as de frozen waters now… dat's why he seek to claim Elizabeth again. If she were dead to dis world, he could keep her aboard de Dutchman, along wit some vestige of him former life. Ye see?"

"Poor Will," Elizabeth whispered without thinking.

"Poor all of us, more's like," Jack said with a grimace. "The curse of the Dutchman bests us again."

"It bested even me, once," Calypso nodded. "But who knows for certain? Yer de Pirate King… and ye got wit ye Jack Sparrow."

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth felt her stomach lurch at Calypso's cavalier description of Will's destruction. The choice before her—to take Will's place and give him peace or to continue running from him, assuring his loss of humanity—filled her with despair. And yet, there was a third choice Calypso had failed to mention: to allow herself to die, and join Will on the Flying Dutchman. But all of these choices were wrong.

Could she leave Jack again? She didn't think so. Feeling Calypso's cool gaze, Elizabeth knew the color on her cheeks and the childish way she clung to Jack's hand gave her weakness away. Just a few months ago she had sailed the seas alone, Captain of the Black Pearl and its fearsome crew, Pirate King and hardened criminal. Then, she might have jumped at the possibility of rejoining Will, even in death. Now, all was changed: she was a mother and… and she had a… a Jack. The corners of Elizabeth's mouth tipped up slightly, thinking of him that way. He was never easy to define. He was still beautiful—always beautiful—but weariness and sorrow showed in the lines around his eyes and the stiffness in his back. Fancy, mourning the supposed passing of her with rum! He never ceased to infuriate her… and delight her. Losing her wouldn't break Jack's heart the way it had broken James, nor drive him into rash action like Will. He was steady in himself, used to being alone, able to bear things. Strong.

Elizabeth swallowed with difficulty. What force came between them both, when their souls were bound together? They were cut from the same cloth… peas in a pod. And yet their connection was challenged and attacked at every turn. It would be them against the whole world forever, if they chose it. It would be blazing guns and infamy and… and everything Elizabeth had secretly yearned for in her younger days. Everyone close to them would suffer: their son, their friends, especially Will. Was it unforgivably selfish to cling so tightly to Jack at the expense of all else? _"To act on selfish impulse…" _Jack's words spun in her head. _Pirate, Pirate!_ She thought to herself. _"If you were a good pirate, this wouldn't be a hard decision at all…" _Yet still it was complicated, it required careful calculation.

Jack was bending towards her conspiratorially, one eye fixed on Calypso as though the goddess might melt into the gray haze. "Almost dawn, Lizzie. Time for us to move on." He was firm; he had mastered whatever emotions Calypso's news had aroused before. Elizabeth shivered imperceptibly, remembering how grim, how dangerous Jack could be when the occasion called for it. He was not a man to betray… not a man to be gainsaid. And all this she had learned little by little, day by day, until she wondered how she had ever thought him a scoundrel. Had it been that fateful night at Shipwreck Cove she had really begun to trust him? When they had left behind their anger and their fear and their precious plans? He had had every chance to hurt or humiliate her then, and yet he (the rough pirate she claimed had no decency) had been gentle, honest, vulnerable. How subtle it had been, the way he crept into her life and changed all her dreams!

"Lizzie?"

She faced him, trying to discern the question written on his face. Could he see right through her? See the torment of decision? She must leave that behind now, even as Calypso retreated from them and the faint hues of dawn inched their way across the horizon. "Birmingham," she muttered, trying to match his mood. "He has our son, and he has the compass."

"Halfway to the Fountain now, I expect."

She nodded. "Then that's where we should be."

* * *

Marta blinked slowly, feeling a dull ache at the back of her neck and her tongue was thick in her mouth. Her surroundings were dim—indoors somewhere, with vague starlight breaking through cracks to the floor. Mosquitoes buzzed lazily near her ear. Shifting uncomfortably, she tried to piece together her last memories: the attack on the ship, the inevitable capture, the questioning in a language she couldn't understand. And John… John had been taken somewhere. Killed? Marta shook her head, anguished. No fabled water, whether it brought immortality or youth, was worth the loss of him.

A soft scratching outside the woven wall of the hut startled her from her painful reverie. This was the noise that had prodded her awake only moments ago. An animal? Marta hugged her knees to her chest, her head hot.

"Oy! Marta!"

In shock, and partial relief, Marta scooted as close to the wall as she could and hissed back, "John?"

"No, no sweetheart, just another scoundrel trying to make his way through life."

"Charles Vane!" she spat the name like invective, recalling the cheerful way he had bound her and sent her to her death.

"Yes, that's the one!" his voice was hoarse, strained. "Listen here, Miss Black, I never meant for that whole drowning thing to happen. Cross my heart."

"I'd rather stab it."

"And as enjoyable as that would be, would you consider a trade-off? I get you out and we call it even?"

"Help me escape?" Marta considered doubtfully. "What about my crew—my ship? And John?"

"These natives aren't cruel, just protective. Seems Ponce de Leon wasn't exactly a friend, so anyone who shares his skin… you understand. And with their goldmine of a legend here, it's no wonder they keep their borders well-guarded. You and me can slip out, track down this bloody fountain, and slither back before dawn. By that time Mr. High-and-Flighty Birmingham will be storming in, guns and all, and we can grab the crew and the ship and be gone before these Indians can say "immortal". Sound dandy?"

"But I don't know where the fountain is!" Marta protested, trying to follow his twisted logic.

"I hear you've got a good nose for sulfur. Can't be far, eh?"

Marta pursed her lips, a habit she had long ago picked up from Isadore. "Vane, if you get me out I'll do my best. But I won't call anything even until you're dead."

"Which hopefully won't be for a couple hundred years." Marta could hear his smile behind the thatch. A knife thrust through the weave and he began sawing as quietly as he could.

"Hush!" Marta said suddenly, hearing the soft pad of feet near the doorway.

* * *

Less than a mile away, Birmingham and twenty of his closest (and strongest) men at arms were bent nearly double as they hacked their way through the jungle. At the head came Birmingham's right hand man, an unimaginative but obedient footpad called Woodworth, who held aloft the precious compass and now and again gave direction. For all Birmingham's prestige in Her Majesty's Royal Navy and for all his acumen in leading men at sea, he was finding himself both out of his element and out of sorts as the night wore away. For the crude direction of the compass gave little regard to what might lie in their path: whether it be waterfalls (they had scaled two), swamp (many missing boots there), or deep-carved streams rushing back to the ocean. Sweaty and anxious, the men slapped at the bugs and cursed at the hanging vines that obscured their way. And someone was always complaining, having to carry that screeching son of the Pirate King.

"Your whoring mother will pay for this," Birmingham muttered for the thousandth time as the infant let out another high-pitched yell. Cogley, the current carrier of the child, steeled his face as it squirmed.

"Can't we leave it, sir?" Cogley asked, his annoyance plain.

"Its leverage," Birmingham sighed, and the words sounded ridiculous even to him. What fool mission had they embarked on here? He soundly wished he were back on his own ship, laying plans to decimate the last of the pirate strongholds so he could leave this bloody region and get back to a civilized country. He was beginning to think the Fountain of Youth didn't exist at all, but was rather a legend that lured men like a siren to a slow hot death in the jungle.

"Sir!" Clive, the nimble scout, came dashing back from some point further on with excitement. "I think we're getting close, sir."

"What does the compass say?" Birmingham replied dryly.

"Still points dead east," Woodworth said.

Clive waved the compass away impatiently. "Up ahead, sir. Quite a sight! Rock formations, with words on them if you take my meaning."

"Rock formations?" Birmingham shook his head.

"Aye sir, as the natives do put. We saw some away back by the beach, can't make out the words. But there be pictures as well—and one of them shows a cave."

"A cave?" Birmingham's steely gray eyes showed a flicker of interest.

"Aye, a cave. And what looks like someone crawling into the cave—"

"Yes, yes, get on with it!"

"And scooping water from a spring!"

Birmingham looked ahead as orange sunrise shot through the trees. And presently, a shrewd smile came to his face.

* * *

_More to come soon!_


	32. Chapter 32

_It's been nearly a year and a half since I last updated this story. Which is ridiculous, considering it is very nearly finished. I hate to leave stories unfinished, so far too late, probably long after my most faithful readers have given this up, I will endeavor to complete it for my own OCD mind. Much love to anyone still out there, and I will leave you to make up dramatic excuses for why I disappeared. _:)

* * *

"Who's there?" Marta hissed to Charles Vane, leaning against the rough-woven wall of her prison.

"Hush," Kit returned, barely a whisper in the warm dark. The footsteps grew louder, and Kit determined no native would make so much noise in his approach. The swift, silent movements of the tribe were famous throughout the region— it was nearly impossible to know of their presence until they attacked. Their stealth was a precaution against the kind of Ponce de Leon, who had wreaked havoc on their people in more ways than one in his original quest for the Fountain of Youth. Debate still swirled over whether he had actually gained immortality, especially after he vanished off the coast of Brazil. Yet ever since, a hidden map or two had circulated the hands of old sea men, and stories were told of the sacred water.

"Marta?" John Porter's voice left the two fugitives with sweaty relief.

"John!" Marta cried, clamping her hand over her mouth as she realized how loud her voice sounded. "Where in God's name have you been?"

"Never mind that," he said impatiently. "We've got to get out of here. I know where the fountain is."

Kit's face lit up and he began sawing through the wall of Marta's hut with renewed vigor. "Jolly good! Let's step to and sally forth before we wind up in a pot. These natives aren't too friendly to our kind, if you follow me."

In a moment Marta emerged from the hole Kit had bored in the wall, damp with sweat and dirt. Mosquitoes droned noisily around them, but there was no sound of their captors. "Eerie," Marta whispered. "Do they mean to let us escape?"

"I think not," Porter replied. "They've gathered a little ways into the jungle. Seem to be having a meeting of some sort. I dare say they think their darts would have left us sleeping for hours."

"How do you know where the fountain is?" Marta questioned as they tiptoed away from the makeshift camp and into the slithering green vines of the jungle. Something in Porter's face seemed wrong. He merely shrugged.

"They left me tied to a tree just a little way from their meeting ground, and their tone did not leave much to guess at their apprehension. There are stones all over this land, covered with their markings. They appear to lead down towards a cave on the north side of the valley, and part of the tribe followed them there a few hours ago. They left a trail."

Kit grinned and rubbed his hands together. One of the most famed treasures of the Caribbean was about to come within his grasp. "All we need now is a pirate lord, a few guns, and some extraordinary luck to see us through."

* * *

Jack and Elizabeth had a fair bit of explaining to do back at the Castillo. The Pirate King had been dead only hours before, and her miraculous resurrection unsettled the crew.

"So, what yer sayin' is, ye faked yer own death?" Gibbs scratched his head, perplexed. The rest of the crew stood nearby, keeping an awkward but definite distance between themselves and their beloved, possibly-dead king.

"No," Elizabeth insisted, "_William_ faked my death. I never really died. Gibbs, stop looking at me as if I were a ghost!" She turned to her crew, exhibiting a few scrapes from the previous day's battle.

"It's true," Jack affirmed, "It's that bloody stupid Will makin' a mess of our plans yet again. Can't seem to let anyone enjoy Lizzie but himself." Seeing Elizabeth's injured face, he quickly added, "Though one can hardly blame him, with such a task."

Nearby, Barbossa puffed at a pipe in annoyance. "Whatever your state of bein', lass, we have all of two hours to get out of this fort before dawn breaks and reinforcements (or Royal Navy) likely make corpses of us all. Dead or no, the Pirate King should lead the way."

"And we must reach the Fountain of Youth before Birmingham, or we'll walk straight into a trap. It is imperative that we catch him unawares, instead of the other way around!" Elizabeth turned to Jack, thinking of all Calypso had said on their last encounter. Her son was poisoned—if she did not reach him within a day or two, he would die a slow and horrible death. And Will was slowly melting into the sea and the task that had accompanied the final curse. He had sought to bring her to the lands of the dead before her time, undoubtedly in response to the emptiness and sorrow that was fast overtaking his soul. If she remained apart from him and stayed on land, she must forever reconcile herself to losing her husband. If, on the other hand, she chose to stab his heart and release him from his curse to a peaceful death, she faced the same slow decay of humanity. And if she allowed Will to return her to the lands of the dead, to preserve his soul by her nearness in that awful realm, she would lose all the life she had gained in the last few months. Jack, her son, the glorious thrill of adventure… all would be lost to her. Had she made the choice upon her marriage to Will, or did life's fulsome changes signify she could be free of the past? There was no answer to the riddle! She clutched Jack's hand, thinking how very likely it was that she would soon lose him. After everything they had gone through to be together—after all their adventures and betrayals and reconciliations, it seemed fate might drive them apart after all.

"Lizzie's right," Jack said quietly, in that growl of a voice that characterized his more serious moments. "It's now or never. All or nothing. To the wind, with a will, or we turn tail and run. But the sea doesn't afford us much protection anymore, I'm afraid. Too many ships and flags for the comfort of pirates."

"To the Fountain, then!" Marcos quipped, strapping a sword to his side and downing his portion of rum. "Isn't that what we all came for? We've pledged our loyalty to the Pirate King and we'll not stand down."

"Ayes" were heard from the others, and with that, the courtyard of the Castillo burst into action. The crewmembers gathered the remaining provisions left in the fort, paying particular attention to the weaponry. As they moved toward the gate, Jack seized Elizabeth's arm and pulled her into the shadow of the fort.

"Lizzie, love, do ye remember what I told ye when we started this little venture?"

Elizabeth nodded, recalling the strange conversation in Port Morgan months earlier, long before she had admitted her attraction to Jack was something much more than a faded memory. "You made me promise I would not let you drink from the Fountain."

"Aye, love. And promise ye did. So hold me to it, and if push comes to shove, I want ye to shoot me rather than let a drop of that water touch me lips."

Elizabeth forced a laugh. "Jack, really, could you expect me to shoot you? Why won't you drink from the Fountain? I thought you wanted immortality."

Jack shook his head, his dark braids masking the lines of his face. His eyes glinted black, as they ever had, but there were mysterious depths to them in the shadow of the fort. Elizabeth shivered as she gazed into eyes, so full of secret determination.

"Jack, I made a promise. I won't let you drink from it." She lifted her chin, wondering why he had set himself against this treasure. "But tell me why."

"It's all a matter of leverage, and curiosity, and freedom," he murmured, trying to allay her with his old charm. "Nothin' ye need to worry yer pretty little head over."

He turned to depart, but she pulled him back. "Jack," she whispered, "What will become of us?"

"Too soon to tell, love," he said with a dangerous grin. "Are ye thinkin' of taking up Calypso's plan to save the whelp?"

Which plan, Elizabeth wondered? Could he read her thoughts, those twisted betraying thoughts that seemed to be driving her towards duty and sacrifice? She could not erase the face of Will from her mind, so blank and cold he might have been dead. She set her mouth in a hard line. "I won't leave you, Jack," she lied firmly. And then, truthfully, she added in a whisper, "If something ever happened to separate us, I think the ocean would tip over and spill out. All the adventure would dry up. Nothing would be right." Everything had been going wrong since the day she fell off the parapet of Port Royal and found herself face to face with this scruffy, wild, rum-soaked pirate. Every day since then had been a journey towards freedom—freedom from the life she had known, the girl she had been, the choices she had made. A perilous but exhilarating path it had been, but now it had converged upon another life and she was left with a terrible choice. "What would I do without you, Jack?" she mumbled. "Who will be there to cut off my corset when I am drowning?"

"What could separate us now, darlin'?" Jack asked, a hint of a smile softening his face. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll find the boy, and we'll make off scot-free like we have a thousand other times. Somehow we'll manage it. The Pearl's waiting, love, just beyond the bay. It'll be back to Captain's quarters and assuaging our curiosities."

Elizabeth closed her eyes wistfully for a moment, knowing that sweet paradise would never again be hers.

* * *

Birmingham rounded the corner of yet another sunken grove, studying the strange marks carved into the rock formation ahead of him. "I have not the pleasure of understanding this nonsense," he snapped to Woodworth, who joined him in the investigation. Their men stood nearby, rubbing their sore legs and dousing their faces with icy water from a nearby stream. The smell of sulfur was thick upon the air, but they were no closer to the Fountain now then they had been two hours before. Daylight would soon prickle through the pine trees and their lead would be lost. Birmingham was certain that the Pirate King—or whatever she called herself—would find her way to the spot if she had breath left. She seemed unnaturally attached to the squalling infant he had in his possession. And with her, he and his men would be able to access the famed waters of immortality and drink to their health for years to come. Once his immortality was gained, it would be back to tidying up the riffraff that had spread throughout the seven seas—all those who did not fit within the establishment of civilization. Beckett may have failed, but Birmingham was made of sterner stuff. It was not enough to merely fill in the blank edges of the map. Everything on the map must be properly maintained as well.

"I think," Woodworth faltered dryly, "We might employ a native to interpret. This compass seems to lead us in circles."

"Employ a native?" Birmingham spat. "We are the best of His Majesty's Royal Navy. If someone can't decipher it, you all should rethink your positions upon our return to England."

"I've got it, milord!" Clive said. "The compass points North, but this stone seems to suggest if we tread a bit further East, we'll come upon a back entrance to the caves where the Fountain must be. A perfect way to catch the Pirate King unawares when she arrives, eh?"

Birmingham smiled thinly. "Well put, Clive. You may expect a recommendation to the King upon our return."

"Thank you, milord."

The men pulled themselves up, the thick brocade of their uniforms quivering with sweat and heat. The tropical climate had only grown more dramatic inland, away from the comforting trade winds and the spray of the sea. Clive shifted his gaze Eastward, where the shoreline had been lost hours before. Something in the air here stirred him, and he wondered if he would ever return to England to improve his career, as Birmingham desired. The New World was full of adventure—uncharted lands and blank spaces on the map where a man could disappear and forge his own way, apart from the petty desires of kings, apart from the stifling expectations of his family. Though disappearance might just be considered an act of piracy these days.

* * *

John, Marta, and Kit raced along the sandy path of the valley, evidently much used by the tribe they had so recently escaped. They could hear drums and a fair amount of guttural music in the distance, just off to the West. Torchlight flickered in some hollows; they were certainly still on enemy territory, and it seemed folly to think the tribe did not know of their escape, or could not immediately recapture them if it wished.

"I hate being on land," Kit muttered as they stole from shadow to shadow. They could see the land rising ahead of them, and the rock formations began to blend into the sloping hills. Spanish moss and lichen hung humidly above them, and the noise of the jungle seemed to pulsate with fresh vigor as dawn approached. "No air here, no wind."

Marta shook her head, pausing for the tenth time to yank up her skirts. The bargain she had made with William Turner, the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, returned to her mind yet again, and she wondered how she had never valued life—whether on land or sea—before losing it. A few more days, and then she would be forced to return either to lands of the dead, or to Will's place as cursed captain of the fated ship. How could she leave John? He had followed her, fought for her, loved her for so long. She had ruined his life, pulled him from the hazy comfort of Port Morgan and plunged him into the realm of pirates and goddesses. If she could do it all over again, she would have married the boy properly and remained at Port Morgan for the joys of a quiet life. Girlish dreams of adventure had finally given way to a womanly understanding of love, but it was too late to embrace that now. Too late to remove the stain of piracy from her name, and too late to remove the shadow of death from her soul.

"I think I see the entrance to a cave," John cried suddenly, pointing a little ways ahead. A solemn grove bent around a slim crevice in the rock wall of a short cliff. They could hear the sea again— or rather, they could hear the gulls that portended the sea. The shore must be closer than they expected.

Marta ran towards the entrance, tracing the plethora of strange devices littering the wall. What did they mean? Were they a confirmation, or a warning? "We still haven't got a pirate lord," she frowned. "If this is it, we'll have to find somewhere to hide."

"Not before we've had a look inside," Kit said, striding forward. His eyes were blazing and his heart was pounding in his throat. They were close—he could feel it. They were verging upon the most fabled treasure of this hemisphere—something so valuable it transcended gold, aye, transcended even the freedom the colonies offered to those with a quick wit and a bit of luck. Moss grew thickly around the little doorway, and the trees above whispered together. Kit was suddenly cold. Immortality, he thought. Could the human mind truly know what such a word meant? No… humans were made to die, death was their gift and their curse. "Our minds were not made to fathom such treasure as this," Kit whispered reverently.

It was Marta's turn to grow impatient. "Get within, Vane, if you value your life. Those natives will soon find out we've gone and be after us here. I doubt we've tread carefully enough to avoid leaving them a trail."

The entrance was no more than a sliver—they all had to bend sideways to fit. The air inside was musty and thick with sulfur. The gurgle of running water could be heard, unless it was their imagination playing tricks on them.

"I don't suppose either of you brought a torch?" John said with irony. The thin starlight outside stopped abruptly a few feet into the cave, and the pitch black ahead forced them to move bit by bit, feeling their way like blind men, with their hands outstretched.

"Can you hear whispers?" Marta suddenly hissed into John's ear. They all froze for a moment, their feet shifting on the sandy floor of the cave, their hands flexing for weapons they no longer had. "Perhaps it was my imagination," Marta breathed after a moment of silence. It seemed strange to think that with no map, no magic compass, and no assistance, they had found their way into the cave that promised immortality. Would no one arrive to stop them?

A sudden spark of light made Marta jump, and she turned to see Kit lighting a cigarette beside her. "No harm, darling," he grinned. "A little light to see by, is all." The tiny glow the match sent out showed they had entered a large cavern, the ceiling twenty feet or so above them. Ahead, jagged formations hid whatever passageways delved further into the cliff.

"Can this be it?" Marta asked, glancing around uncertainly.

"Back here!" Porter cried, leaping over a few rocks to place his hand on the wall. A train of markings showed in the yellow light of Kit's cigarette. "Behind this wall."

"Well, how do we get through the wall?" Marta asked, frustrated.

"For that, we'll need a pirate lord…"

* * *

"We're making good time," Elizabeth noted as she and the remaining crew of the Black Pearl stamped after Jack through the thickening jungle. They had left the Castillo abandoned, the gate closed to prevent a sudden storming of the Pearl. The town of St. Augustine would certainly overtake the fort again before long, but if luck held, they would return to claim the Black Pearl before then. Elizabeth pictured the ship, waiting patiently in the bay for their return. Would she return? Would she ever walk those trim black decks again? She shook her head, pushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. She mustn't think of that now. She must think of her son—Jack's son—and how to rescue him from Birmingham's clutches.

"My intuitive sense of the female creature informs me you are troubled," Jack said suddenly, something Elizabeth had heard him say long ago. She chuckled in spite of herself. "Come on, darlin', your face is white as a sheet. We've established that ye are alive and well, so why do ye still look like a ghost?"

Elizabeth's eyes flitted around, to Gibbs and Barbossa, Weatherby, Fenwick, Marcos, and the rest of the crew. They were moving fast, with determination that only pirates could muster for a famed treasure. On their faces she read conflict, though. Each was struggling within his own soul to make sense of the immortality that might soon be theirs. It was not a simple thing to take upon oneself, that was certain. Elizabeth returned her gaze to Jack, a few feet ahead of her, his movements agile and sure, though he had only been here once before. He had left his coat and hat on the Pearl, and peeking beneath his shirt Elizabeth could see the telltale scars that hid beneath.

"Aren't ye going to answer me, love?" he said, low.

Elizabeth tried to harden her face, to wipe away from the emotions sparring passionately within her. "Nothing's the matter. I'm weary, that's all."

"A poor liar, my little Lizzie," he returned. "Are ye rethinking our quest?"

"What if the boy doesn't survive, Jack?" Elizabeth asked, hurrying to walk beside him.

"Keep to the code, and we'll just make another, eh?" Jack winked. "I'm only teasin', darlin'. That child has quite a future ahead of him, I'm not worried for a moment that a drought of poison will be his end. We'll find him."

To the East, the sun was finally breaking through in slender golden beams. A ray of light caught Jack's face, and Elizabeth paused to memorize the rough skin, the clever mouth, the fathomless eyes of her pirate. Yes, hers.

To her, immortality meant only one thing—rejoining Will and endeavoring to keep his soul from being lost. And if they found the Fountain, she knew her own conscience would force her to drink it.

* * *

_More to come soon... _


	33. Chapter 33

**I forgot how much fun fan-fictioning could be. You want to know what I did for three hours in a graduate seminar tonight? Worked on this story. Yes, in addition to be a fanatic Sparrabether, I am also an exceptionally focused student. ;) Not!**

* * *

Marta ran to the stone wall, and from within she could hear the sound of rushing water. The Fountain was hidden behind the rock! She pressed her ear against it and could almost taste the onslaught of immortality within.

"So close, yet so far," John remarked, voicing her thoughts.

"It's only a matter of time," Kit said with certainty. "We've found our way here, the others will surely follow." He let out a brief, anxious laugh.

And then, from out of the darkness, another laugh joined his. And another, and another, until the whole empty chamber was ringing with laughter.

Marta and John felt their skin prickle at the sudden noise, and Kit fumbled frantically with another match. He needn't have bothered. Within seconds, torches were lit, and what appeared to be the entire Indian Tribe surged into the cave until it was quite full. Their skin, deep brown and oiled, glimmered against the torchlight. There must have been close to two hundred people there, all armed, tattooed, and laughing.

"Bugger," Kit muttered. And then, to drive the point home, "Damn."

Marta and John lifted their hands in a sign of surrender. Out of the mass of bodies, a tall, broad-shouldered and heavy man strode forward. It was evident by his attire that he was the chief.

"Clever discovery you have made," he chuckled in near-perfect English. "We wondered how long it would take you."

"You speak English?" Marta cried. "Why did you not say so before?"

"English," the chief replied, shaking his head in disgust. "A brutal language. We learn it, but we do not love it." He surveyed the three of them, all pale, filthy, and haggard, and his mouth cracked into a smile again. "And now I have you in my keeping once more."

Kit stamped out his cigarette. "Very well, chief. You caught us. Now what are you going to do with us?"

The chief winked at his tribesmen and laughed again. "Do with you? You English are always so interested in hierarchies. What you will do to other people, or what they will do to you. We of the Arawak tribe do not delight in domination. We merely protect the gifts the gods give us."

"Such as the Fountain of Youth?" Kit challenged, indicating the stone behind him. "Share and share alike, I'd say to that."

"I'd be happy to," the chief said grandly. "That is, if you tell me where Jack Sparrow has gone to. He must have sent you, and we've been awaiting his return for over a year now."

"Jack Sparrow?" All three captives cried out, in very different tones.

"That blaggard?" Kit cried. "What has he to do with anything?"

"Everything," the chief said, raising his eyebrows. "Why, he is the one who taught us to unlock the Fountain and the gifts it gives. Without him, we cannot open the stone or drink from the Fountain."

Kit's face fell, but from the entrance to the cave a voice was suddenly heard. It was rough and comical, and precisely the voice the captives wanted most to hear.

"Oy! Chief Cacique! Tell yer fellows to leave off my company, eh?"

The chief whirled toward the voice of Jack Sparrow, and the tribe parted to let him inside. Elizabeth was beside him, along with Gibbs and Barbossa. "Jack Sparrow!" the chief cried in delight. "We knew you would return!"

"Aye, and here I am. It's high time we drank each other's health, eh?" Jack approached the chief and they shook hands. Elizabeth watched in silent amusement; did Jack's garrulous nature know no bounds?

"Ah," the chief said, suddenly solemn. "The goddess has been here. After the last time, she put a spell over the water and claimed that the water shall remain hidden unless a Pirate King and a Pirate Lord _together_ fulfill the contract she has laid down. Her way of ensuring the legacy of the Pirate Brethren lives on—so that her vengeance on them will not be lost in their mortal deaths."

"Calypso," Jack spat like a curse. "Always needing to control the last vestiges of magic we have here on earth. Quite like her, really."

The chief interrupted. "King and Lord must both shed a drop of blood on the rock, and then the stone shall open. Once the Fountain has come forth—"

A sudden barrage of gunshots cut the conversation short. Screams came from the entrance to the cave, and the tribe surged inward, raising their weapons at the sliver of a door.

"Birmingham," Jack hissed, pulling Elizabeth behind him. And then, raising his voice to be sure his enemy would hear, he called out, "Come on in, milord! We're all ready and waitin' for ye!"

A thin, evil laugh was heard outside. "I certainly will. But I am carrying in my arms a certain son of yours, so I would advise you to hold your fire as you value his life!"

The chief looked to Jack, who looked to Elizabeth. She had loaded a borrowed rifle, but seemed reluctant to take aim at the doorway. Jack spoke rapidly to the chief in his own language for a moment, and the chief answered back quietly. A powerful emotion crossed his face, and then Jack sighed, and made a motion to the tribe to lower their weapons.

"Come in, Birmingham," he called, defeated. "You have me word as an honest pirate that no one will harm ye as long as ye hold the child."

That was all the invitation he needed. Birmingham strode in, flanked by his men, all of whom held guns ready to shoot down anyone who challenged them. It was clear at least that the pirates, even joined by two hundred Indians, could not fight against Birmingham's thirty soldiers. They were armed with rifles, while the Indians had arrows at best. Birmingham smiled upon seeing Charles Vane, Jack Sparrow, and Elizabeth Turner all gathered by the rock wall. A fine day's capture they would be, just as soon as he tasted that famed water. "Now, Chief," he commanded, with one glance at Cacique, "open this Fountain."

"It is not within my power to open it," the Chief said truthfully. "It is the right of the Pirate King and a Pirate Lord to do so, by order of the goddess Calypso."

"Is that so?" Birmingham said with a sneer. "Very well, then. Jack Sparrow and Mrs. Turner will do quite nicely. Open it, Jack, or your son perishes."

Jack glanced to Elizabeth, and to the chief. The thought of an immortal Birmingham, perpetually sailing the seas to root out the last pirate strongholds, was not a very pleasant one.

"We should fight," Elizabeth whispered to Jack. "We have to fight!"

"Fight with what, love?" Jack questioned back in a whisper. "Are ye willing to risk the boy?"

Elizabeth bit her lip, her eyes fixed on her young son, now asleep in Birmingham's arms. "Even if agree to open it," she said desperately, "he'll never keep his end of the bargain. We'll all be killed afterwards, I'm sure of it."

"Perhaps you should extend the parlay," Birmingham said dryly, "If you intend to speak loudly enough for me to hear. You have my word as a gentleman, the child will not be harmed. In fact, I will go so far as to say this savage tribe around you will retain their lives as well, provided you do as you're told."

"And what about us?" Kit interrupted. "Sparrow, and the King, and me?"

"Ah, well that's more delicate. I'm bound by my oath to the true King of England to capture and put on trial any pirate that crosses my path. I'm afraid it will be the rope for you lot. But if you fight, I can assure you that not only will you die, but this child and these fine natives will perish along with you."

"I say we fight," Kit said boldly.

"No," Elizabeth retorted. Jack shook his head, agreeing with her. They could not give up their son's life so easily.

"Lower your weapon, Vane," Jack instructed. "If yer lucky, Birmingham will remember how helpful ye've been to him in the past and commute yer sentence. Now, Birmingham, if ye'll just have over yer dagger, we'll have this fountain opened in a jiffy."

Birmingham's face showed elation at his easy victory. "I'm glad you at least can see reason, Captain Sparrow." He handed Jack his dagger.

Jack took a deep breath, and with one graceful motion, sliced the skin of his palm exactly where he had done so years before to end the curse of the Isle de Muerta. Elizabeth winced as drops of blood trickled down Jack's fingers and onto the rock. When a small pool of blood had gathered there, he handed the knife to Elizabeth. Steeling herself, she repeated his motion and watched their blood mingle on the floor.

Instantly, the rushing of the water within grew louder and wilder. Tremors shook the cave, and the deafening split of earth was heard. The rock forced itself apart with furious motion, and everyone within the cave found themselves on their knees, the torches guttered out and the smell of sulfur overpowering. At last, the earth stilled, and a steady stream of water had parted the floor of the cave, already forging a path outward toward the ocean.

"Immortality," Kit whispered, awed.

Jack and Elizabeth found themselves together on their knees before the stream, listening to its enchanting gurgle. It sounded so peaceful—hardly in line with the violence that had brought them all to this point. Jack had torn a strip of cloth from his sleeve and he seized Elizabeth's hand, binding her wound with a tenderness she could not have imagined for so rough, so wild a man as he. The water of immortality was before her, but her soul mate was beside her.

Birmingham did not trust himself to speak, but approached the water with rapture, leaving the sleeping infant nestled against a rock. "At long last," he finally croaked. He had waited so long for this moment—to address the one fear still lurking in the heart of every Englishman, to ensure his power would remain in place far longer than he had ever dreamed. He and his men gathered by the stream, trembling with anticipation.

Birmingham was the first to cup his hands and fill them with water. His crew eagerly followed suit, raising their 'glasses' to Birmingham.

"To immortality!" Birmingham cried with glee, and one by one, he and every one of his soldiers soldier drank their fill.

A few moments passed, in which the faces of the soldiers grew suddenly pale. No one else in the cave dared move. The peaceful gurgle of the stream changed, and sped up, until the noise was loud and tremulous. Birmingham and his men felt a wind around them, though the weather had not changed. They turned to face the wind, readying themselves for the magical change to come.

And then, one by one, they all dropped dead.

Jack Sparrow watched them drop with a glint in his eye, and when the last one had fallen, he finally uttered a deep sigh of success.

"Jack, what on earth?" Elizabeth questioned incredulously, starring with horror, and some relief, at the fallen company.

"The chief didn't quite get to all of the instructions," Jack said, exultant. "After the Fountain is revealed, Pirate King and Pirate Lord must drink their fill together. Otherwise, the water will be poison to any that touch it."

"Thus falls Birmingham and his faithful band, mortal enemies of pirates everywhere," Barbossa said with glee. He hazarded a kick at Birmingham's body. "It's a shame the rest of the Royal Navy won't die so easily."

Elizabeth had rushed to where her son lay and gathered him into her arms. It seemed the poison Birmingham had ordered given to him was beginning to take effect. "Pirate King and Pirate Lord must drink, Jack, so that our son can…" Elizabeth trailed off, remembering her promise not to let Jack touch the Fountain.

"I hereby pass my Lordship on to me only son," Jack said, pulling the old piece of eight from his braids and placing it gently in his son's tiny hand. "And I declare him the heir to all my rights and duties as Pirate Lord, including first drink from the Fountain of Youth."

"Jack!" Elizabeth murmured, "Are you really giving up your Lordship?"

"No time for that, Lizzie," Jack replied. "Give him a drink!"

Elizabeth bent quickly to scoop water from the stream into her son's mouth. Instantly, the water seemed to have a different effect than it had a moment before. The child's face filled with color and life, until he pulsated with warmth and health. Whatever poison had been given to him seemed suddenly to vanish from his body, and he opened his eyes and giggled. Elizabeth did not realize she had been holding her breath until her son squirmed in her arms, and then, with a cry of relief, she clutched him against her body.

"I might remind ye both that I am also a Pirate Lord, and could have taken that first drink," Barbossa huffed behind them. Jack shook his head.

"Me title belongs to this boy now. I wash me hands of the Brethren Court."

"Well then," Barbossa said, eyeing the stream eagerly, "One Pirate Lord has drunk his fill. Let the King drink, so the rest of us can!"

"Aye!" Gibbs agreed.

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. So this was it—she had to drink, she had to accept immortality. One drink would reunite her with Will and separate her from Jack Sparrow for eternity.

Jack sensed her consternation, though he could not guess its cause. "Do ye think," he said to the chief, "the lady might have a moment? It's a solemn choice to make, deciding to live forever."

The chief nodded, and with a signal from him, the tribe filed out of the cave, following the fast-flowing stream into the sunlight of an early morning outside. Soon Jack and Elizabeth stood alone in the darkness of the cave, Elizabeth still clutching their child.

"If ye're worried about drinkin' this water alone, Lizzie, I can promise I'll stay with ye as long as me mortal life will allow. After that, ye'll be on yer own."

Elizabeth shook her head. What Jack didn't realize was that tasting this water would mean choosing Will. Accepting immortality would mean returning to the Flying Dutchman and salvaging whatever heart Will had left. If she didn't return to him now, who could tell whether he'd remain human for long? If she waited to fulfill all her longing for life with Jack, she might return to the Dutchman to find Will completely empty, a washed out shell with no soul left. She couldn't take that risk, could she?

Elizabeth leaned to rest her head against Jack's chest, breathing in his scent, his warmth. She gently placed their son in his arms. "Leave me alone for a moment, Jack," she whispered. "I can't bear to drink from this Fountain with you watching."

Jack shrugged, giving her a curious look. He didn't understand the choice she was making. He stepped out into the morning, and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"Can we drink?" Barbossa asked at once.

"Just a moment," Jack returned. Elizabeth soon joined him outside, her mouth wet. "All clear, love?" Jack asked her.

Elizabeth nodded, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and averting her eyes. "It's done," she murmured. She looked around at the Indian tribe, at Jack and her son, and Barbossa and Gibbs standing nearby with Kit, John Porter, and Marta. "Barbossa," she said with a slight smile, "You have been the most eager to drink from this Fountain. I suggest you take the first sip, and the rest of you can follow suit as you choose."

Barbossa willingly accepted her offer, putting his face right into the stream and taking deep gulps. Charles Vane leaned down and began to lap up the water as well, and then Gibbs joined them. The rest of the tribe pushed forward to cup water in their hands and drink.

"John, won't you drink?" Marta asked, eyeing the stream wistfully. Her bargain with William Turner had left no room to escape impending death, and now she had fulfilled her end by seeing Elizabeth and her child safe. Even the Fountain of Youth could not prevent the Captain of the Flying Dutchman from claiming her within days. Marta leaned her mouth close to John's and whispered, "Whether or not I stab the heart and release William Turner, I have passed beyond this world, John. You can't save me, so drink and forget me."

John shook his head, gazing into her face with love. "What would the world be like for me without you, Marta? If I drink from this, I'll spend eternity mourning you and missing you. If I refuse to drink it, at least I know I'll be reunited with you in death. When you return to the lands of the dead, I'll be counting the days until I join you." And with that, John met Marta's lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

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_more soon... reviews appreciated! _


	34. Chapter 34

**We're coming (at last) to the end. 2 chapters to go! Thank you all for welcoming me back, and thank you for the reviews! I'm very grateful for your input and encouragement. :) **

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Night had fallen. Bidding farewell to the now immortal tribe, Jack and his crew returned to find the Black Pearl unguarded and the Castillo still empty. A stroke of luck at last, they all agreed. Marta and John had brought the Norfolk up river to the bay, and under cover of darkness, the two ships retreated away from land with the tide. How different things were, since last their sea legs had carried them down the gangplanks! Some had tasted the waters of eternal youth: if they managed to avoid the enemy's dagger, the stray bullet, and the king's rope, they could sail the seas forever. Though for now, the Fountain had not worked any physical change on those who had drunk. A somberness hung over the company, however. Layers of betrayal had muddled their purpose; they had found the Fountain, claimed the great treasure, and seen Birmingham and his men dead. Yet other dooms seemed to hover overhead, gathering close like a late winter storm, waiting to claim them. Such was the life of a pirate. There was always something to run from, always someone to fear. Always something to lose.

With her task complete, Marta prepared to say goodbye to John and allow the Flying Dutchman to claim her by midnight. Whether she planned to fulfill her bargain with William Turner by stabbing the heart and freeing him from his task, she did not say. She had kept the bargain secret from the others, unsure of whether fate would allow her to relieve Will from his task at all. But Elizabeth overheard her plan to summon the Dutchman that night, and made a plan of her own.

* * *

Barbossa was at the helm of the Pearl, steering a steady course away from wherever the Royal Navy might search for them next. And search they would, as soon as they discovered their Lord and flagship had vanished off the coast of Florida. In the Captain's quarters of the Black Pearl, Elizabeth sat watching her son and her lover sleep, thinking how close they had come to destruction at the Fountain of Youth. By some magic or luck, witty Jack had saved them again.

_Jack_. Elizabeth loved to watch him, even sleeping, there was a peculiar warmth to his skin, a particular strangeness to his steady breathing. Such a pirate he was, the best she had ever seen. He had not paused to remove his boots or jacket before collapsing onto the bed, and Elizabeth thought he did that on purpose—so that he always might be ready to strike off on a new adventure. So that he would not be caught unawares.

Tenderly, Elizabeth ran her hand over her sleeping son's face. Better that he should sleep now, and wake to find Jack alone. Better that he not remember his mother, who had left him to fulfill her final debt to her first love. For more than an hour Elizabeth had watched them both, letting love roll over her in deep waves, letting grief choke her with brutal earnestness. Now was the time to be strong, to live up to the name of Pirate King that had once been bestowed upon her in Shipwreck Cove, ages hence. That was the night she had given up the last vestiges of hope for a quiet life, and the night she had given up her last vestiges of honor to a pirate.

He would understand. He would learn to love solitude and freedom again, he would chase after another treasure, and he would raise their son. Perhaps a day would come that he would forget her, find solace in another's arms, laugh that he had ever thought he loved so stubborn a lass as she. No matter. Elizabeth's face crinkled and she struggled to maintain her composure in the dark cabin. She must go now, or she never would. She removed her shoes as carefully as possible, and then, with a fearful look at Jack, she reached into the cupboard built into the wall for the heavy chest within. A steady rhythm shook the sides of the chest, and Elizabeth gingerly lifted it, shifting the weight against one hip as she tiptoed to the door. Moonlight streamed through the window, and Elizabeth gazed on the scene for a moment. And then, with every ounce of her strength, she forced herself to slip out of the door and shut it softly behind her.

The deck was deserted, except for Barbossa leaning rapturously against the helm, humming softly. "Good evenin', Mrs. Turner," he said congenially as she approached.

She left the chest leaning up against the mast and wandered over to him. "A fine night," she commented, feeling the brisk wind against her face.

"Aye," Barbossa nodded. "With any luck, we'll make port in Tortuga in a day or two. Then we can re-supply and be off."

"I'll take the helm for a while, Captain. I have no sleep in me."

He shrugged. "As you will. You're king."

Elizabeth sucked in her breath. "No, Barbossa, _you_ are king."

"Beg pardon?" Barbossa's patchwork face showed only curiosity.

"According to the Code of the brethren, kingship can be passed down in extraordinary circumstances directly to the senior Pirate Lord. If the current King abdicates freely, that is."

"And you are abdicating now?" Barbossa questioned.

"I abdicated this morning," Elizabeth replied wistfully. "Just after dawn."

"And what if I don't want to be king?" Barbossa growled. "What if I refuse your fine offer?"

"You can't," Elizabeth sighed. "According to the Code, the oldest standing Pirate Lord inherits the responsibility the instant the king steps down. You drank from the Fountain and lived, Barbossa, though I hadn't. You are king now. At least, until the Brethren Court meets again and votes you out."

Barbossa chuckled, and Elizabeth could tell how pleased he was. "Fancy that. Well lass, I'm not surprised you gave it up in the end. Heavy lies the crown, and all."

"Yes," Elizabeth murmured. "Let me at the helm, then, and get some sleep. I need to think."

Barbossa shrugged, chuckled once more, and then strode below, and Elizabeth could hear him repeated the words again and again. "Pirate King." He would make a grand king, he would, and an immortal one to boot. He was a far better pirate than she.

She ran her fingers along the length of the wheel, feeling a connection to the sanded wood that surprised her. She could imagine her son, grown, holding this very wheel. She could imagine Jack leaning over it, weary after a long day, yet unable to take his eyes off the horizon. She glanced into the distance, where the Norfolk loitered. Time was running short. Soon Marta would appear on the deck and summon the Dutchman, and she had to be ready. Nimbly, she pulled a coil of rope over the wheel so it would steer true until dawn.

"Planning an escape, love?" Jack's casual voice made her jump. She had not heard him approach.

"I'm not planning anything, Jack." She bit her lip, unable to lie to him. "At least, I'm not planning anything new. Just fulfilling an old promise."

"Ah," he said with a little nod. He looked wide awake, and Elizabeth wondered if he had merely been pretending to sleep. "So ye're off to the Dutchman, is that it?"

"Jack, don't," Elizabeth said quietly. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. I have to go… I have to try to save Will if I can, any way I can."

He didn't argue with her, but she could see the wrath on his face as clear as a hurricane. "Should have seen this coming, I guess," he finally said, his voice dark. He was standing in the shadow of the mast, the chest pulsing dimly nearby.

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered. "I should never have… I always knew I might have to…" she trailed off, tipped her chin up. "It's better this way." She took a step closer to him, drawn, as ever, by his magnetism.

"Better?" his ironic tone caught her off guard. "I'm not sure as it is better, love. In fact, I'm not sure as it is any good at all." He reached to grasp her shoulders loosely with his deft, trim hands. Elizabeth could barely see his face in the weak moonlight, but his breath was hot against her skin. He pulled her closer now, pressed his lips against her forehead, her eyelids, her hair. "Ye would leave without a goodbye to old Jack? That's mighty cruel."

"I couldn't bear it," she breathed, losing her fingers in his tangled braids, drowning in the scent of smoke and sweat that clung to him.

"If ye make yer decisions alone, love, how can I trust ye?"

Elizabeth was dissolving into his touch, brought up short by a question that sounded so familiar. "You can't."

"Ah, can't I?" he had reversed their position, and he pressed her up against the mast with surprising strength. His mouth wandered across her face, finally stopping at her lips. She gave herself up to his furious kisses. "I can always trust my Lizzie to be a pirate," he murmured. "That's as much as I can expect, and all I ever wanted from ye, darlin'."

Elizabeth felt the uneven mast behind her pressing into her back, splintering through her clothes. The chest had gone silent and the waves had stilled, and the only thing Elizabeth could hear was Jack's breath and her breath, ragged and reckless, together. She pulled him closer by the thin fabric of his shirt, reaching beneath it, desperate for his skin on hers. "Once more, Jack," she exhaled. "Once more and then we'll part… then we'll be free of each other."

Jack groaned as they moved against each other, the sturdy mast the only thing keeping them from falling, headlong, into the sea. Free of each other? He could never be free now… not without her, not alone. Piracy was a joke and adventure a cheap drink. Neither could sustain him after love.

The stars flickered overhead, muted with madness and heartbreak. Jack and Elizabeth breathed in time as they burned against, inside each other. Jack could feel Elizabeth's pulse madly fluttering at her throat, and he lost himself in the motion as they quenched their thirst and sated their passion for what Jack knew might be the last time. He did not want to leave an inch of her skin unkissed, or an inch of her soul unclaimed. If this was all, it must be everything, and it was. Oh, how truly it was!

Presently their movement slowed, their kisses grew languid and deep. Elizabeth leaned back against the mast with dreamy abandon. Don't stop, she wanted to say, don't ever stop. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Marta on the deck of the Norfolk, moving towards a longboat. It was time to go.

In that instant, she heard the click of shackles closing. "Jack," she cried aloud, fearful and yet strangely thrilled, but when she reached for his face, she found her hands were free, after all. The shackles had closed around emptiness.

Jack's smile winked gold. "Do ye really think I'd keep ye here by force, Lizzie?"

She shook her head, shame for everything she had done to him surging through her mind. She had shackled him, he had set her free. He was the good man she had always longed for, so good he would let her go, despite the pain it caused him.

"Ye're free to go, love," he said, laying a last, lingering kiss softly on her lips. "It's me who will be stayin', chained to this ship and this mast for the rest of me days."

Elizabeth found her throat had tightened and she could barely speak. She pulled out of his warmth and shivered as the night came between them. So many things to tell him, but all were meaningless now. "Jack… tell the boy… our son… tell him how much I—"

"I will, Lizzie."

He lowered the longboat for her himself, loaded the heavy weight of Will's chest in beside her, and watched her row away to the Norfolk. For a few moments he focused vaguely on the way her hair fell across her back, the way her hands clutched the paddle. She did not turn around.

He was hunched over the rail of the ship, their words of parting fresh in his mind. He could not keep her by force, that was certain. A faint smile showed at the corners of his mouth, and his face lit up with all the restrained energy of another brilliant plan. Not force, but persuasion… persuasion was another matter. Aye, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He would not let her go so easy. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.


	35. Chapter 35

**Thank you all for the reviews! Here is Chapter 35… just one more to go after this! I'm so glad to see old readers returning, and new readers jumping in on this story. Enjoy!**

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Jack sprang down the narrow, rotting steps of the Pearl's hold, one level, two levels down. A jungle of hammocks, each filled with a sleeping crew member, vibrated with snores.

"Oy," Jack muttered, recalling what life was like below the sweet solitude of the captain's quarters. "Kit!"

A grunt near the stern alerted him as to Kit's presence, and Jack promptly tipped the hammock over, depositing Kit on the floor with a cry of dismay.

"Up, Kit," Jack muttered, yanking him toward the stairs.

"What the devil?" Kit rubbed his eyes, pulling a shirt on. "What's gotten into you, Jack?"

"Just settlin' scores, mate. Ye betrayed me one too many times for me conscience to overlook." Jack dragged him up the stairs, and they burst onto the deck. "It's time for ye to pay up."

"Bloody hold up," Kit said, finally getting his feet under him and yanking away from Jack's iron grip. "Pay up? You survived, the wench is safe, your child is breathing—what more did you want?"

Jack's mouth curled into a dangerous smile. "Ah, it's a bit more complicated than that, Vane. But I don't think I'll stand to lose her this time."

Kit shook his head, pushing the hair out of his face. "I've told you, Jack. Love and piracy don't mix."

"Don't they?"

"How the devil do you expect to look after _yourself_ when you're looking after her and her bastards?"

Jack snorted. "Bastards? We've only got one, thanks very much, and we'll think mighty hard before trying for another. After all, we've both got a price on our heads."

"That's precisely what I'm telling you, Jack," Kit frantically twisted his hands together, desperate not to lose the immortality he had so lately gained. "You need all the friends you can get this side of the law."

"Aye," Jack agreed, his pistol casually aimed at Kit's heart. "Ye're absolutely right, Vane. Which is why I want ye to stab the heart of the Captain of the Flying Dutchman and become Captain yerself."

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With weary fingers, Elizabeth pulled herself up onto the deck of the Norfolk. She was still trembling, body and soul, from her last embrace with Jack. She could smell him on her clothes and her skin, and she wondered how long it would be before such things were lost to her. She knew what she had to do now. She had refused to drink of the Fountain of Youth, resolute that she could never spend an eternity with Will on the Dutchman, coming so near to land yet never touching it, coming so near to Jack yet never kissing him. So only one choice remained: to let Will believe he had succeeded in tricking her about her death, and be taken to the lands of the dead, where she would be forever lost to the world but gained to her husband. Perhaps then, the slow decay of Will's soul could be prevented.

Elizabeth scanned the deck of the Norfolk, finally resting her eyes on Marta, who stood impassively against the starboard rail. She blinked under the heady light of a full moon.

"Marta," she called in a whisper.

Marta turned around with a little gasp, but relaxed on seeing Elizabeth. "Aye."

"You have an arrangement with the Flying Dutchman, I understand."

"He should arrive at any—"

Her last word was cut off by the sudden thrashing of the sea, as though an earthquake has struck deep beneath the water. The wind billowed around them, and Elizabeth clutched the rail, watching with dread as the Flying Dutchman emerged from the waves, black as a shadow, carrying with it such a dead calm, such an empty silence, as could scarce be believed.

"Will," Elizabeth formed his name with difficulty. He materialized before them, melting out of the wood of the Norfolk, eliciting a shudder from both of them.

He was tall and straight as Elizabeth remembered, his face impassive, lost of the boyish warmth that had once captivated her. There was a bit of compassion still clinging to his hands, she could see, as he went about his task, but otherwise he was ebbing away like a late morning tide. The man she had once loved would soon vanish altogether.

She stood before him, heart pounding, blood rushing hot through her veins, her mind awhirl with so many thoughts she could not count them all. "Will," she repeated. She could not think of a single thing to say to him, except his name.

He seemed to smile. "Elizabeth. You have returned. I trust the child is safe."

"Yes," she managed. "Yes, he is safe. You gave me the time I needed."

"And Jack?" The aridity with which Will spoke his name was terrible to hear.

She struggled to nod, struggled not to leap over the side. How capricious was a woman's heart, she thought. There had been a time she would have gladly joined Will beyond the world's end, even in a land devoid of life or hope. There had been a time she would have sought death to rejoin him there. But then… the child. Somehow, her foolish mistake in the arms of Jack Sparrow had offered her a second chance, something to live for, something to die for. And that rum-soaked pirate—the one she had scoffed at and despised and killed—the one she had claimed was without a moral center, or a sense of personal hygiene (Elizabeth had long since realized her error on those counts!)—had commandeered her heart, marooned her on love in a way she couldn't quite understand. "Jack will look after the child," she finally whispered. Did Will know her son had black eyes?

She wanted to scream at him, beg him why he had tried to make her believe she had died, why he was dragging her to the land of mooring to save himself. But she found herself awash with sympathy for him. He had saved her so many times, given his very life for her. It was time she returned the favor. "I'm coming with you, Will. You can take me to the lands of the dead."

Something in his face flickered, like a candle relit on a dark night. "We'll be together again," he said very gently, almost hopefully. "Each time I journey to the shores of that land, I will be with you."

She blinked, unsure whether sorrow, or pity, or tenderness caused her tears. "Yes, and I will be with you."

He held out his hand to her then, as he had so long ago at the edge of the maelstrom that would consume their lives. She closed her eyes, lifted her hand…

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"Ye don't want to be doin' that, Lizzie," Jack's voice startled Elizabeth out of her reverie for a second time that night.

She turned, stunned, to see Jack swing himself over the rail of the Norfolk, Kit close behind him, warily glancing at the raised pistol in Jack's hand.

"Jack!" she cried in a daze, "What are you doing here?" Hadn't they just said goodbye, not a quarter hour before, on the deck of the Pearl? Hadn't he let her go?

"Well Lizzie, I said I wouldn't keep ye by force, but there's no sense in not trying something which may or may not work but which would leave me quite aggravated if I didn't actually try. See?"

She fought the grin that threatened to spread across her face. "Jack, I've told you. This is the way things have to be."

Will and Marta stood silently at this exchange, and Elizabeth noted that the candle of hope that had flickered in Will's face a moment before had gone out. Jack seized her arm and pulled her to his side, leaning in close so the others wouldn't hear.

"Lizzie, ye want to give him peace. I understand that, love, but ye've got a life here now, a son, a _me_. There's a better way to save him, love."

"How?" she hissed back, desperate and shaking. Jack always seemed to find a way out precarious entanglements. But this time… was it possible?"

"Kit will stab the heart," Jack said, low. "Give Will the peace of death, and take on his cursed position."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't ask Kit to do that."

"Ye don't have to ask him. He'll do it, or I'll shoot him."

"Jack," Elizabeth shook her head sadly, clutching the fabric of her shirt to keep from throwing her arms around his neck. "You can't force someone to take on a task like this."

"Why not?" Jack replied cheerfully. "I did it last time."

"Wait!" Marta cut in, having moved close enough to hear their whispered conversation. "I'll stab the heart. I promised Captain Turner I would. I told him I would give him peace. There is no need for Kit to do it."

"Ah, ye hear that, Vane?" Jack muttered. "Looks like ye're off the hook, for the moment. Though that won't prevent me from shipping ye off to Old Teague next, to be judged for your flagrant and unscrupulous code-breakage."

"Stab the heart?" Will came closer, his face still closed like a window. "Did I hear you correctly, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth clutched her shirt edge more tightly. "No, Will. I don't want you to die. I came to give you peace among the living."

"Buying it with your own life," Will said softly. "I don't want you to die, either, Elizabeth."

"But I thought… you told me I was dead, Will." She looked wondrously at his face, which had suddenly gained back some color, some life.

"I lied," Will said. "I thought if I could be near you again, I could… we could…" He shrugged, not sorry. Maybe a little sorry. Elizabeth could not tell.

"I made you a promise, Will." Elizabeth pulled up the chest that contained his beating heart. "I married you, and I swore to take care of this… of your heart. I want to honor that promise."

"You have," he replied. "And I know you will. Not all promises are made for keeping, Elizabeth." The murky luster in his eyes reminded Elizabeth of the promise he had made to his father—the promise that had stolen their lifetime together as husband and wife. "You came to give me peace, Elizabeth. You have. If I can know that you are alive, and happy, I will have peace. If I can know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that at the end of your natural life you will come to the shores of the dead, and we will be reunited there for all eternity—then I can sail these seas without losing my soul. I can wait for you one lifetime, Elizabeth. I can wait while you walk the earth and sail the seas, knowing one day, you'll be mine again." He did not say, _I can wait while you raise your son and find happiness with another man_, but Elizabeth knew that was what he meant. She knew.

"Truly?" Elizabeth found she could barely speak. Her terrible choice was vanishing—Will was offering her a reprieve from eternity, for a little while at least. "If you lost yourself, Will, I would never forgive myself."

He smiled, his face human for just an instant. "One lifetime. Then I will return to claim you, and whatever bits of my soul I've lost along the way, I'm sure I will find them again in you."

Elizabeth released herself from Jack's strong grip, walked over to her childhood love, her former husband. "Goodbye Will," she said, kissing him very lightly on the lips. "We'll meet again someday."

"Yes," he breathed, drowning in her last kiss. "Marta, it is time."

Marta sighed, and then waved a wistful goodbye to Jack and Elizabeth. She found saying goodbye to the world the second time was far easier than it had been the first. Will took her hand, and the two of them vanished into the night. A moment later, the Flying Dutchman itself plunged into the black water, leaving only the shadow of its memory behind.

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Jack and Elizabeth stood together on the deck, unable to remove their eyes from the spot where the ship had gone down. After a moment, Kit shuddered, drew a flask from his shirt, and drank deeply, offering the rest to Jack. Jack took a swig, and then passed it to Elizabeth, who quickly finished the remaining rum inside.

"Oy," Kit said eventually. "That was a sight and no mistake."

Elizabeth nodded, afraid to look into Jack's face. Was she free to love him fully now, or had her final kiss—and promise—to Will destroyed whatever was between them? She had never thought Jack jealous before, but maybe this time he would find it too hard to once again be a stand in for a husband she would rejoin one day. Elizabeth shook her head, knowing that Jack would never be a stand in to her. He was her life, her freedom… if only she could make him understand that!

As if in response to her thoughts, Jack pulled her back to the rail, where moonlight flashed unevenly off the water below. "Love, I think it's time I told ye something. Something I should have told ye a long time ago. Now it might make a difference to ye."

He reached into his breeches pocket and pulled out a coin, which he flung at once into the water. For a moment, nothing happened, and then suddenly, in the exact spot where the Dutchman had submerged, a figure glided from the water. It took Elizabeth only a second to recognize it as Calypso, clad in her human form once more, still soaked in the salt of the sea and emanating that restrained power that belonged to the goddess.

"Calypso," Jack acknowledged enigmatically as she brought herself level with the ship. "I think it's time we tell Lizzie about our bargain."

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Last chapter coming soon…


	36. Chapter 36

**I was going to wait and post in a week when I got back from a trip, but I decided I've kept you all waiting too long already. It's time to say "khalas." **

**Two and half years after beginning this story, I am finally drawing it to its conclusion with this final chapter. I can't help but wrap things up this way—since Sparrabeth did not get its happy ending in cinemas, I feel it is only fair to give them lots of happy endings in other stories. Anyways, thank you immensely for reading! I hope very much you enjoyed this story, and found it entertaining and a little bit thought-provoking. Thank you for all the reviews and encouragement, and for sharing the adventure. I have had so much fun writing it, and I am glad I found it again and can complete it properly at last. I'd never have gotten this far without your wonderful support, and I hope we all meet again over fanfics soon! Lots of love!**

****Note: The bit in italics near the end was inspired by Stevie Smith's brilliant poem, "Not Waving But Drowning," which I highly recommend, in addition to that fateful scene in the first film when Jack and Elizabeth meet. I find that scene to be a perfect metaphor for their relationship. Enjoy! **

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Elizabeth stood transfixed, gazing on Calypso. _Bargain_? What sort of bargain had Jack made with the sea goddess, after all that had happened before Davy Jones was killed? Calypso had been freed, released to take up the mastery of the seas that had once been hers. Yet in this new world of imperialism—this world of ships and guns and flags— how could she maintain her power? Elizabeth could not fathom what it meant to be a goddess. She had barely managed to be king.

"Aye, witty Jack," Calypso said smoothly, melting onto the deck of the ship, her fragrance wild as the purest foam off the ocean. How long had it been since Elizabeth had sat in her tumble-down hut, clutching a mug of something bitter, locked in grief so profound it seemed a kind of death? How long had it been since this woman had been a mere prophetess, grown into the swamps upriver, forgotten?

Jack's hand found Elizabeth's arm, and he guided her closer, deeper into the circle of divinity. "Lizzie, love, I never thought my future would matter to another…" Elizabeth looked up, into his shadowed eyes so black they might not be real. What was he trying to tell her? His face was closed. "I watched ye row away to the shore, darlin', after our last battle," he continued, his voice strained. "I watched ye sail to yer husband. And when I found myself in a dinghy, alone, with nothing but the horizon out before me, I was glad. I can't explain it. I thought I was free."

"Free of me?" Elizabeth asked.

Jack shook his head, remembering. "Free of everything. Free of death. Free of commitments. Free to do whatever I liked, for as long as I liked."

"I understand," Elizabeth whispered, but she did not.

"When the rum wore off, I realized what I had lost." Jack seemed to be having difficulty finding the right words to say, a rare happening for him. "When the rum wore off, I cursed the name of William Turner." Feeling the weight of his words press against them, Jack managed a smirk. "Course I didn't quite call him that. I used other words. But ye understand what I mean. Thought I had won, Lizzie. I was wrong."

Calypso stood looking over them impassively. Elizabeth shivered, remembering how, after Will sailed away on the Dutchman, she had fought against herself for days, trying to decide whether she should find Jack again. That had prompted her mad quest after the Black Pearl, and it was only after she had caught it that she realized Barbossa, and not Jack, had retained Captainage.

Jack's eyes flickered. "I went after the Fountain. I found it. But by that time, I didn't want immortality for anything. What a sight that would be, me living for all eternity, endlessly mourning _you_, love! I didn't drink. After that, I took me dinghy back to try and find ye, for old times sake. A storm came up one night, the boat overturned, and that would have been the end of me."

"Had I not intervened," Calypso interrupted at last, a cat-like smile stretching her skin. "I offered him reprieve: that I would protect him for all his natural life, let him die of old age, and then, he would come to me and do my bidding for eternity."

Elizabeth caught her breath. What was it about mortality that frightened humans so? Why did they always find themselves making bargains with the divine to forestall the final rest?

"I agreed, love, with the promise to Calypso that I would never seek immortality, because me natural life was as much as I could have before she'd claim me." Jack's voice sounded soothing after the ruthless strength of Calypso's.

"Why are you telling me this, Jack?"

Jack shifted his weight forward, meeting her eyes. "Because ye just bargained away _your_ eternity. And I wanted you to understand that once, I did the same. We're remarkably similar, ye see."

Elizabeth could feel Kit's rum reaching her head, and without thinking, she chuckled. "Peas in a pod, after all."

"Aye," Jack murmured. "And I had to tell ye because… at that moment before death (my second death, as it were) I was willin' to bargain away eternity on the chance that I'd see you again in life. Just once more."

Nearby, Kit guffawed at Jack's flagrant honesty. Elizabeth, on the other hand, found herself close to tears. Was it the rum, or Jack's words that were having such a strong effect on her? "You gave up eternity to see me again, Jack?"

"Something like that," he muttered, his eyes on the ground. He had always been uncomfortable with his honest streak.

Elizabeth wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to cover his dark face with kisses. She wanted to swear her undying love to him there on the deck of the ship. But Jack wasn't like other men, he didn't burn for security, didn't require smothering displays of devotion. She could not prevent the smile that appeared on her face, threatening to burrow wrinkles into her cheeks. "And was it worth it, Captain Sparrow?"

He caught her humorous tone. "Haven't made up me mind yet, love."

Calypso had drifted toward the rail, her body tugged by the wind, her hair a cloud over the moon. "Fare ye well, Jack Sparrow. Until we meet again, dat is."

Jack nodded to her, a steady nod of understanding. "Aye, goddess. Aye."

Calypso spread her arms as if to wave. "And I'll enjoy watching the two of you trying to learn to raise a child. Though now dat _ye_ aren't king and _ye_ aren't lord, it will be a mite easier to escape dese Royal Navy dat come after ye."

"Perhaps we'll take on new names, as Jack once did," Elizabeth put in.

"Our son's name is a mighty fine ploy to keep him safe from said Royal Navy," Jack added. "After all, who could suspect a child named for the King of England of being a pirate's bastard?"

"Who indeed?" Calypso replied with a mysterious wink. "Though George seems a bit plain for the son of Jack Sparrow."

"In the succession of Kingly names, William and James were already vetoed."

"Den George it must be," Calypso laughed. "And good luck to ye both, because raising a child requires plenty of it."

.

* * *

.

They sat on the bed in their cabin, quiet at last. There was the noise of the sea outside, those waves that they loved, that wind that they lived for. There was the soft breathing of a child—their child— in the next cabin over, sleeping.

"No stars tonight," Jack said after a long silence. "Maybe a storm comin'."

"I don't think so," Elizabeth retorted softly. "I think the storms have all passed for this season."

"All storms?" his eyes glinted. "A pirate knows not to depend on things like the weather, love."

"What do they depend on, Jack?"

His fingers slid abstractly through his tangled braids, the slight creases around his forehead easing as his eyes closed. He leaned back gingerly until he was stretched across the bed, almost as though he were easing into a new life. "Were a time when a pirate depended on no one but himself. Aye, there were a time it was dangerous to trust anyone. Even the one ye loved."

Elizabeth shivered, feeling the sting of old betrayals, feeling the bitter torment of those days after the kraken, when her existence had been eclipsed entirely by the driving need to bring Jack back, cost what it may. And after that, so many days and nights learning to live with what she had done— trying to undo it in Jack's arms at Shipwreck Cove, bracing herself to lose him in the curse of the Dutchman, and then finding herself widowed and alone, Pirate King of a ragged, untrustworthy kingdom, still haunted by longing, yet bound irreversibly to her childhood love… ah, how strange life was! Jack seemed ancient to her now. He had lived this life for so many years—this life that she had struggled to believe, to survive, for just over a year. He had danced on the edges of a thousand knives; he had loved and lost, women, ships, ideals; he had stared into the face of death enough times to smile at it. How did he do it?

"Do you trust me now, Jack?" she whispered. She was unsure whether it was wise to ask such a question now, at the outset of this new life, which must be called a reprieve.

"That's a silly question, love." He smiled gently to the ceiling.

"Is it?" she pressed, laying down beside him, curling her body towards him. His eyes remained closed.

"Aye, it is. We've both of us lost our souls to trust. And we'll spend eternity fulfilling those debts, however honorable they seem."

Elizabeth could almost hear the snick of a shackle closing around his slender brown wrist. "I suppose we should both say we aren't sorry."

"I, for one, am certainly not sorry, love. Got nothing to be sorry about in the whole course of my spotless existence."

She chuckled wearily. "Indeed, Captain Sparrow?"

"Aye, until-formerly-King Lizzie."

She traced his face gently with one hand, the sun darkened skin, the smoky hollows beneath his eyes. He shivered at her touch—her touch that meant the smell of burning palm trees, the taste of the oily black boardwalk of Tortuga, the sight of unavoidable death, the whispered assurance of a fresh life. And for her, touching him, feeling the astonishing _freedom_ to touch him without guilt or worry or rush, seemed to paint his skin with a thousand new shades of desire. "Jack, be serious. After all our planning and struggling, is this how things will end? Both of us tied to the mast of former promises?"

He sat up, a deep frown written across his face. "End? What do ye mean, _end_? Why Lizzie, haven't ye noticed that we won? We've got a lifetime—fancy that, love, an entire lifetime!—to ourselves. Goddesses and legends and husbands and enemies: we've slipped through their fingers, every one." He gripped her shoulders, pulling him against the solid warmth of his body, whispering into her hair roughly, "We've made it. Ye're here on me ship love, in me bed, all mine."

"Yours? Am I?" she returned. His grip around her merely tightened. "I thought you said you wouldn't keep me here by force."

His hands strayed to the small of her back, forcing their bodies closer together until she could feel his heart beating steadily against her. "Do ye want me to let go?" he taunted blackly.

"Never," she breathed.

.

* * *

.

_There is a girl upon the ramparts, shod in glossy gold, part nymph. A pirate glances to the cliff, he glances through her. Drowning. She is drowning, much too far out. The breath in his lungs soars out to her, and he can see her tiny hand clutch the stone as she bends, desperate for air. _

_Oh god, is she waving or drowning? The unspoiled china curls belie her desperation. There is a statue sort of man beside her, burning bright for her, standing still for her. She needs wild flailing limbs and a jolt from the sun, not statues. Waving? Is she really just waving at him, so far out? _

_She plunges downward to heaven, a little golden bird, falling, drowning in mid-air. He can see her days and her nights, her fragile evening torment, her stifled morning stretches. Oh, what a pirate she'd be! He should let her drown. There in the sea, deep in the sea, she would find wintry solace, she would find his heart down there somewhere, a sacrifice to freedom. _

_No one swims anymore. He is the only one. He is always the only one able to dive into the cold blue depths, for that waving maiden who might be drowning. She is part mermaid, drenched in weighty figments of hypocrisy. He grasps her, she eludes him, he tears toward her skin, she is becoming the water. They will drown together here in this ocean, much too far out. They will drown together._

_He breaks the surface and he is waving. There is no one to come for him, there is only her. In all that murk and that salt he found her. He is breathing, she is empty of all air. He has taken it from her. They reach the dock and the wood darkens with their water. He opens her lungs suddenly, she changes her mind and does not drown. The pirate reaches for the gold at her throat, and she reaches for the gold in him, smoldering deep within his mask of wintry solace. _

_._

_

* * *

.  
_

Elizabeth woke in Jack's arms. The untidy cabin around them was perfect. He was perfect. The bed they laid on was perfect. And a perfect, brisk sunrise flooded through the window. Her days as the Pirate King were over… but a pirate she'd be for the remainder of her days.

She closed her eyes and for the briefest instant, she was enveloped in the knowledge of what an endless paradise felt like, looked like. The sun brightened, the noise of paradise grew louder, and Elizabeth tucked her face against Jack's brown neck. A lifetime of nights and mornings spread out before them, a treasure chest of coins and gems, each more exquisite and precious than the last. One lifetime. Far more than most people would ever get… far more than she had ever dreamed of.

"I think I love a pirate," she whispered, her smile making her face ache. One lifetime was enough to wear out and wrinkle her face smiling with happiness.

"Mmm," Jack murmured.

"Are you awake, Jack?" she asked.

"Aye. Thinkin' I've had more than my fair share of perfect mornings. This will be number three, to my count. Wakin' beside ye in me very own ship. Who could ask for more, love?"

"They will number many more before long, Captain Sparrow," she whispered. "How many mornings in a lifetime?"

"Enough." His sinful mouth bent into a sweet smile, remaking his pirate's face. He rolled over and pinned her to the bed with one hand, laying an irreverent kiss on her mouth. "I'd say just enough to undo all yer notions of honor and decency."

Elizabeth giggled. "And perhaps instill some manners in _you_, Jack."

"Whatever would ya want to do that for, love?" The kohl around his eyes had smudged in the night, as though he had just come up from the sea. "After all, it's the rough old pirate in me ye always wanted."

"And what did you want in me, Jack?"

He rolled back over, reaching to grab one of her little toes. "I wanted this toe." He moved up, kissing her knee, then her thigh. "Aye, maybe the whole leg." He ventured to her other leg, bare and unevenly colored by the sunlight. "Perhaps both legs." With a cheeky grin, he pressed his lips against her stomach, where the scars had begun to fade at last. "And this naval. I wanted this too." Up, up he went, Elizabeth laughing at the way his tongue tickled her skin. He traced her collarbone with one finger. "This bony chest. And this neck, which I'm inclined to remark, matches yer former name quite well." He kissed her mouth then, wound his fingers through her hair. "All of ye, Lizzie. The whole thing. Here to there, charming to perilous, lady to pirate. I wanted all of ye."

"I wonder if one lifetime will be enough for me," Elizabeth exhaled.

"If it's not, darlin', we'll just have to find a way to bend our fates after death."

"And how exactly will we accomplish such a thing, Captain Jack Sparrow?"

As if to wipe such thoughts from her mind, Jack ran the back of his hand down her arm, devious intentions clear in his blistering eyes. "Well love, we'll have all eternity to figure that out."

.

**THE END.**

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End file.
